A Bestiary of Unnatural Women (24 page)

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.” She 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 and 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.”