I didn't realize how late it was until I got home. However, when I saw Ted's car in the driveway I knew it had to be after six.
Suddenly I panicked. I may have picked up a man at the supermarket, but I'd neglected to pick up any food. There was nothing for dinner tonight.
And if there was one thing Ted expected when he got home from work in the evening, it was dinner on the table by six-thirty. He was probably pissed off already, but he'd be furious when he found out I had nothing to serve him even late.
Sally, my daughter, was coming out the front door of the house as I started up the steps. I started to ask her where she was headed in such a huny, but she spoke first.
"Boy, Mom, are you gonna catch it," she said. "Dad's ready to strangle you for not having supper ready. Where've you been, anyway?"
She looked at me in a funny way when I didn't come up with an immediate answer. For a brief moment there, I had the notion that she suspected I'd been having an affair.
"And just where are you headed in. such a rush, young lady?" I finally found my tongue and verbally covered up my apprehension.
"Got a heavy date," she winked.
"But it's a week night, Sally," I pointed out.
"So what? There's no school tomorrow. It's summer-or have you forgotten, Mother?"
As a matter of fact, I had. I was very addled.
"Aren't you going to have any dinner, Sally?" I asked after an uncomfortable pause, during which my daughter stared at me as though I were most peculiar.
"What dinner?" she made me seem like a fool again. "Daddy wouldn't be raising the roof already if you'd fixed anything to eat.. The only thing that's going to be dished up around here tonight is a lot of yelling and screaming."
She was absolutely right, of course. "Okay," I acknowledged defeat, "go ahead and go. But where's the boy?"
"He's picking me up at Trudy Cooper's," she called over her shoulder. "We're doubling."
"Who's the boy?" I called back across the yard before she could get out of earshot.
"It's a blind date with a guy on the basketball team. He's a friend of Trudy's brother. I don't ordinarily go out with guys I don't know, but you know me-I just can't resist a jock."
And then she was gone. Alone, I stood on the porch trying to work up enough nerve to go inside and face my steaming husband. Now that I was no longer talking to Sally, I could hear him yelling all the way from the kitchen.
"Might as well go in and face the music," I sighed to myself. "It's time to get off the merry-go-round."
However, before I could open the door, it did so from the other side. Don, came bustling out in his customary all-energy fashion.
"Mom!" he blurted. "Where've you been?"
"That seems to be the $64 Question," I sighed some more.
"Dad's in there ready to kill you," my son reported, as if I didn't already know. "You know how he gets sometimes."
I certainly did. Ted was a good provider, but there were stings attached. The main one was that when he didn't get his way, he felt it was his God-given right to erupt like a human volcano.
"Where are you going?" I asked Don the same question I had asked his sister.
"Over to Butch Hobson's to spend the night," he answered. "His mother says it's all right-they're having hamburgers for dinner..
And they don't fight, I filled in the rest of it in my mind. Then, when I looked around, Don was gone, too. I felt like I was on a sinking ship.
There seemed no alternative but to go in. Maybe, I allowed myself some optimism, I can get a few drinks into Ted and cairn him down before he tears the house down.
He was thundering in the kitchen when I entered the house. Pots and pans were crashing, dishes breaking, as he apparently hurled them around the room to vent his anger. Since the kitchen was the room in the house most associated with me, it apparently made him feel better to wreck everything in it.
I took a deep breath and went in to confront him. "Okay, Ted," I said, "I'm here. You can stop breaking things and go to work on me, if it'll make you feel any better."
He turned; saw me, and practically breathed fire in my direction. Then he lunged at me with cat-like quickness and grabbed me by the throat before I could get away.
"This is too much, Betty!" he bellowed like an insane sea-lion. But there his words stopped. He was so angry that he couldn't talk any more.
"You're turning purple, Ted," I found the courage to point out. "Remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure. Especially when you borrowed on your life insurance to buy that boat."
That got him where he lived. The grip on my neck relaxed and I was able to wriggle free. "Come on," I tried to take advantage of the lull in his fury, "I'll fix you a nice, stiff drink. Then, while you're relaxing, I'll get busy on something to eat."
The last part was particularly skating on thin ice, since I didn't know if there was anything edible in the pantry. However, if I could get Ted calmed down, I could make the rest up as I went along. If I got him drunk enough, I might be able to get away with peanut butter sandwiches.
Quickly I had Ted in a chair and switched on the television set, so I could keep him occupied while I poured him a double slug of bourbon. I hoped one of his favorite cop shows was on. Blood and guts always seemed to have a calming effect on him.
I was in luck. Something even more violent than a cop show was on. The news. They were showing a live-action tape of the bloodbath surrounding today's skyjacking. Terrorists were being mowed down all over the screen, to Ted's immediate glee. Finding the bottle of whiskey, I filled a water glass two-thirds full of straight poison and shoved it in my husband's hand while he drooled over flying bullets. After he took a big gulp, he became as placid as a kitten.
Now I excused myself and went into the kitchen to try and find something to fix for dinner. Unfortunately, I put Mother Hubbard to shame. The cupboard was more than bare, it was barren. We were even out of Wonder bread and Skippy peanut butter. There wasn't even a stale Twinkie in the house.
"More whiskey!" Ted called from in front of the TV. Well, I thought, maybe I can just keep feeding bin', that.
I filled his glass even fuller than I had the first time. Ted took a swig like he. was drinking Pepsi. He'd be dead-drunk within minutes.
I wasn't too fond of him smashed, but under the circumstances of this evening I was looking forward to it. At least if he was bombed I could forget about all this dinner nonsense. All I'd have to do to keep Ted happy was keep pouring whiskey into his glass.
The news was over by the time Ted was on his third drink, so I switched the channel for him, looking for something good and gory.
The network programming hadn't started yet, so the best I could do was toiler derby. This seemed to satisfy Ted, especially when the woman skaters started bouncing each other's bodies all over the boards. My husband seemed to enjoy any form of entertainment in which women were abused.
I sat in a chair beside him and tried to watch, keeping his glass full the whole time. Pretty soon, though, I wasn't watching the set, but Ted's reaction to the violent goings-on polluting the screen.
Even though his senses were presumably deadened by alcohol, the spark in his eyes were remarkable whenever one of the female skaters was abused. I started to feel almost uncomfortable in the presence of this sick form of entertainment, and most particularly my husband's reaction to it.
"Where you going?" Ted slurred when I got up because I was unable to watch any more.
"Uh, I thought I'd read."
"No!" he abruptly bellowed. "Stay put. I want you right here."
"But I…"
"That's an order!"
"All-all right," I acquiesced, frightened by his sudden bombast. "But do you think you could change the channel?"
"I'll do better than that," he said, and surprised me by leaning forward and clicking off the set.
I didn't know what to think. "D-do you want to talk?" I ventured.
His response was a drunken leer. "No," he drawled. "You know what I want."
But I didn't. However, considering his mood, I was afraid to say so.
Then I knew. Pushing himself up from his chair, Ted boozily swayed while he unzipped his fly.
"Kiss it and make it hard!" he ordered, as he pulled out his limp prick.
Ugh, I thought. Never had a cock seemed so ugly to me as my own husband's at this moment.
"Kiss it!" he demanded.
As much as I loathed the idea of making love under these circumstances, I couldn't see where I had any choice. By getting Ted drunk I had sort of painted myself into a corner. There was no telling what he'd do if I didn't obey his orders.
I knelt before him, and moved my face toward his limp tool. But I was trembling so much I couldn't center my lips properly for the phallic kiss I was supposed to give.
He slapped me. "Bitch!" he blustered. "Stop holding back! Kiss my cock!"
I knew I had to comply in order to insure my safety-but I just couldn't get myself together enough to do it. My lips seemed to be turning inward, defensively tucking themselves between my teeth to avoid this horrible task.
He slapped me again. This time it was much harder. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.
Another slap, and I toppled from the force. Now I was lying on the floor, and Ted was kicking me. "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!" he screamed the same ugly word over and over again.
I looked up at him. Rather than being twisted by an angry snarl, his face was beaming. The son of a bitch was smiling. He obviously enjoyed seeing me helpless and in pain.
"I don't need you to kiss my cock any more," he boasted.
I looked down from his face. Sure enough his prick was hard. Cutting through the air like the blade of a dagger.
"Now you're gonna have to suck it," he declared. "I'm gonna fuck your mouth.. No, rape it!"
He fell on me. Because he was drunk and his muscles were relaxed, it was like a ton of bricks.
His cock squirmed around on my face like a snake. Then it slithered into my mouth.
It began pumping. The head struck into the maw of my throat.
I couldn't breathe. I was choking. Strangling on prick. Gagging.
Needless to say, my discomfort was a real turn-on to my sadistic husband. The more I struggled, the harder he rammed his tool down me. His cock had never seemed so big.
The whole time he was fucking my mouth, Ted kept calling me vile names. "Bitch! Cunt! Whore! Slut!" he hissed. "You're getting just what you deserve!"
I was beginning to wonder if he was right. Could a husband commit such an atrocity against his wife if she hadn't been asking for it?
I had been complaining to myself for years about Ted's lack of skill in bed. But I had never stopped to consider how he must have been evaluating me. It was certainly within the realm of possibility that he was just as frustrated as I had been for so long.
I had chosen to compensate for our unsatisfactory sex life by having affairs. Who was to say that Ted was any more off-base by attempting to compensate by brutalizing me, especially if I was the source of his dissatisfaction?
He probably felt I had degraded him-diminished his masculinity-by not giving him more pleasure in bed. Now he was getting even. Punishing me through the vehicle of sadism.
It was so brutal, so savage, as he rammed his bludgeoning cock down my throat to the hilt. However, it was clear from the excited way in which he acted that he was deriving more satisfaction from this monstrous act than he would have from a hundred normal nights of lovemaking.
When he came, it was more like hot lead was pouring down my gullet than sperm. My stomach contracted with stark pain from the scalding onslaught.
My only hope was that drunk, middle-aged, and in dubious physical condition, Ted would be all used up after one ejaculation. After all, under ordinary circumstances, the poor loser could hardly get it up even once.
Not so. These were no ordinary circumstances. When he extracted his cock from my mouth, it was harder than ever. Punishing me had restored his potency to the level of a teenager.
"Wha-what are you going to d-do to me, now?" I stammeringly inquired.
He just laughed. He sounded like the arch-fiend in some 1950's horror movie. Vincent Price with a hard-on.
Why had I even wasted the breath to ask? Of course he was going to rape me. My own husband was going to rape me.
He started by ripping my clothing away. The fabric dissolved in his grip like wet tissue paper. I was nude within seconds.
Clasping his hands over my knee-caps, he violently pried my legs open. My pussy was gaping. My nostrils flared from the stench of fear which emanated from it.
"Well, well," Ted chortled, "looks like we're not as turned-off as we'd like to pretend to be."
What in the world could he mean?
"Your cunt is soaking wet."
No, no, it couldn't be. If it was, I must have uncontrollably urinated during my ordeal.
Ted poked a finger between my thighs and ran it up and down the cleavage of my labia. Then, extracting it, he thrust it under my nose.
"Smell it!" he commanded.
I held my breath, afraid, I guess, of what the scent might reveal.
"Then taste it!" he bristled, and shoved the soggy finger between my lips.
I tried not to recognize the tell-tale taste, but it was no use. There was no denying the flavor of my own pussy juice. My cunt wasn't dripping with piss, but with involuntary arousal.
"You want me to treat you rough, don't you, bitch?" Ted played the macho role to the hilt.
I couldn't bring myself to admit any such thing. True, my pussy was marinated in its own juice, but fear can do funny things to you. I just would not admit that being brutalized turned.me on.
"Don't come clean with yourself, then," Ted laughed derisively. "It'll just give me more of an excuse to knock you around. I'll beat you up so bad that you'll wind up begging for more."
This clinched it for me. No matter what I felt inside, I would never reveal any emotion to my sadistic husband other than loathing. He could rape me all night, I didn't care. My pussy might cream, but the rest of me would be hating him.
"Go ahead and fuck me if it'll make you feel like more of a man!" I bitingly issued a woman's most profound dare. "Lord knows, nothing else has made you behave like one."
This wasn't what he had expected. He reacted by spitting in my face. Then, he punched me with his fists about the head and shoulders. Eventually his knuckles crashed into my tits, causing so much pain that I was on the verge of vomiting before he stopped.
"I've kept you waiting long enough," he cruelly chuckled. "Enough foreplay.. Time for the main event." Clutching his stiff prick like a spear, he directed it between my gaping thighs. The lips of my pussy trembled, as his phallic crown drew nearer and nearer.
The first touch was like being branded by a red-hot poker. I couldn't recall my husband's cock ever having been so inflamed with desire.
He stuck it in as though he were skewering me. Not just the head, but the whole organ. Every inch penetrated in the same savage thrust. He had never fucked me like this before, and the act was just beginning.
Then his hips started to roll, his ass started to move. His pelvis became like an engine, powering surge after surge to my furthest depths. I could feel his cock all the way to my teeth.
"Lift your legs, bitch!" he ordered. And when I didn't, he did it far me.
Grabbing my calves, he lifted my limbs aver my head, not stopping until my Thighs were touching my shoulders. My cunt opened so wide that he could practically force his balls inside me. His prick felt as though it were at least a foot and a half long.
He wasn't through yet, though. Lowering his head to my chest, he turned his teeth loose on my breasts. Suddenly my breasts were being mangled, with special emphasis on my nipples. Those delicate buds were chewed raw. Finally, fresh blood was streaming down the front of my torso.
How long would this go on? How long would I have to endure this before he came? I was being butchered.
I decided to challenge him. After all, at this point I had nothing to lose, having been thoroughly degraded. I would see how he responded if I figuratively spit in his eye.
"Can't you come?" I made an end-run around his violence and questioned the capacity of his loins. "You haven't done it twice in a night since you were in your twenties, stud."
"I'm warning you, Betty," he seethed, "don't push me."
"Why not?" My confidence grew in the face of his defensive reaction. "You're the one doing the raping. The biggest joke of all is an impotent rapist."
"I'll kill you, whore!" he blustered.
"Just come in me and I'll be satisfied that you're as tough as you pretend to be," I parried his anger. "To tell you the truth, I don't think you've got it in you."
He didn't know what to make of me. I'd been beaten, bloodied and humiliated, but still I was fighting back. Women-especially wives-aren't supposed to do that.
"Come in me, you bastard, I dare you!" I cried, riding a crest of renewed confidence.
He gritted his teeth. His pelvis crashed against mine.
But his dick started to grow mushy within my twat. No matter how hard he tried to do the final number, his cock grew softer and softer.
I did something I wouldn't have dreamed I was capable only moments before. I laughed. Uproariously, in fact.
The tide had turned. Yes, I was winning.
"Can't do it, can you, Teddy?" I chortled triumphantly. "You're all talk and no action. If you're going to come, I'm going to have to make you do it all by myself."
He stammered. He stuttered. Gasped and gulped. But be didn't deny my contention.
I laughed at him. "What a pitiful excuse you are for a man."
He began to cry. And not just sobbing. Big fat tears were oozing from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.
"What's the matter with the big bad rapist?" I cruelly chided.
"P-p-please," he begged for mercy. "Please stop, Betty."
"Under one condition," I sneered. "You've got to come in my cunt before I let you go." "B-but I-I can't." "We'll see." "Wha-what are you going to do to me?"
The time for conversation was over. I responded from the source of my power over him. I tightened my pussy muscles.
Yes, they were like a vise. I could feel them literally clamping around Ted's pitifully diminished dick. Squeezing it. Choking it like a noose.
He struggled, but, of course, it was to no avail. When push comes to shove in the eternal battle between cock and cunt, there is no match for the power a woman possesses between her legs.
Tighter and tighter I constricted my vaginal sinews. Ted must have felt as though he had steel cables wrapped around, his member. Anguish left his face and was replaced by the evidence of stark pain.
Within me, I could feel his dick responding. My cunt was so powerful that it was sucking the blood from the rest of his body into his organ. And once it was there, there was no way for it to escape. Trapped blood in the phallic tissues spells erection, no matter what the disposition of the cock's owner. Ted's prick was inevitably growing. I, and I alone, was making it grow. "How do you like it, Ted?" I asked. "How do you like being raped by a woman?"
He gurgled something unintelligible. The poor man was as helpless as a baby in the savage grip of my pussy.
Then I upped the ante. Twisting my shoulders up from the floor, I rolled us over. Now I was on top, triumphantly astride Ted's cock as though I were a queen perched upon a throne.
I began wiggling my ass and undulating my hips, setting up a maddening whipsawing action. The friction generation against Ted's prick must have been excruciating.
He was at full erection now-needless to say, in spite of himself. The rest of my husband was a sniveling coward; however, thanks to me, his cock was standing tall.
I was going to make him come on my terms, that's all there was to it. Grinding away, I worked his hard-on within my tight cunt more and more vigorously. What's more, I seized his balls with my clutching fingers and pumped them. The cum was roiling inside, being involuntarily manufactured by glands that didn't know the meaning of fear once they were stimulated.
With increasing savagery I applied the pressure. Stretched below me, my husband whimpered in defeat. No act of sex with him had ever pleased me more.
His cock and balls could withstand no more without giving. Suddenly Ted's cock lurched as though it were going to tear loose from his groin and there was an eruption.
It was like sitting on top of a jive volcano. Molten liquid came pouring out. My cunt captured every drop of it.
Sperm seemed to permeate every interior nook and cranny of my anatomy. Ted's nuts were being sucked inside-out.
Eventually, of course, there was too much for a single pussy to hold. Besides, after so much effort, it was time for me to relax. Easing my muscles, I purposely let the wad in my fuck-hole go. It came pouring out of my snatch in a flood, pushing Ted's now-useless cock out with it.
Since Ted was on the bottom, he was abruptly drenched with his own jizz. I laughed at the sight of his stickiness, reaching down and smearing the spunk all over him in a gesture of contempt. I started laughing over what I'd done. God, how I laughed. What a fool I'd made of him. It made me feel so good. After years and years of being under my husband's yoke, I had finally turned the tables on him, Here's the really weird part, though. I guess you've noticed that I've made no mention of any orgasm on my part. There is a reason for this. I didn't start coming until after I had left Ted sprawled and sobbing and sticky on the living room floor and was alone in bed. By myself, I slipped my hand between my legs and cunt in wonder, glorying in its perfection. Then I started to come. A long, slow climax that built and built and built until it was overpowering. It wound up being the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced. Perhaps greater than all the ones I had previously experienced put together.