Chapter 3 #2
“You are mine,” he said. “I don’t fucking share with other men. I don’t want to hear you talk about such foolishness again. Do you understand?”
I nodded, but inside I still felt that spark of rebellion.
Reuben wanted to have sex with me, and it pissed him off.
Michael was pistoning in and out of my mouth hard, much harder than usual, and I had to grip his pants so I wasn’t knocked on my ass.
“Don’t ever fucking act like that again.”
His thighs tensed and I drew in a shallow breath, because I knew what was coming next.
A twitch, knocking his cock against my teeth.
Then floods of hot cum filled my mouth, and I closed tight around his cock to make sure none of it escaped.
He didn’t like that.
I swallowed every drop, tasting bitter and sweet as he let out a low groan.
When I licked to the last drop, I got up without looking at my husband and walked over to the side table to get my cross-stitch project.
My mouth burned from how roughly he had taken me, but I refused to let him see me touch my swollen lips, instead letting them sit there, sore and stinging.
Michael was not usually ever rough. Why would he need to be? I always gave him exactly the blowjob he wanted.
After a few moments he got up and opened the screen door to the backyard so he could sit on a chair a few feet away and smoke outdoors.
Still I said nothing, but I could feel his eyes on me as the bright spark of his lighter flickered. His face was hidden in shadow.
“Do you need any more of those?” he asked, pointing to my cross-stitching.
I felt a little startled. “No. Thank you. I have a ways to go on this one.”
“Get more of them,” he said. “As many as you want. They’re pretty.”
I said nothing.
I did not need more cross-stitching projects.
Michael sucked in on the cigarette in the growing darkness, shadows falling across his face as his cheeks hollowed in. Cold, remote, and powerful.
“Let’s take a trip next month. We can go anywhere you like.”
I was even more startled, and I felt his eyes on me, glinting out of the shadows, so I knew I was expected to say something.
“OK.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Oh. . . I don’t know. Maybe somewhere down the coast for the weekend.”
“Not the coast,” Michael said savagely. “I’m talking something bigger.”
“Oh,” I said, bending down to my needlework again.
Even though it was dark, there was a perfect circle of light around my chair, the vibrant colors coming alive under my fingers.
Something about cross-stitching had always relaxed me, and I placed another neat little stitch as my husband leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long low breath of smoke in the air.
I felt his eyes on me but I didn’t look at him. Thank god for the cross-stitching.
Usually during the evenings I sat next to him, was eager for any contact, any attention.
But now with the anger pulsing through me, I couldn’t have cared less.
“Come fuck me.”
My heart began to pound. He must feel my quiet defiance, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got my submission.
And I would obey. But that was all he’d get—bare, reluctant submission.
I laid my work down neatly.
When Michael wanted something, he expected it right then.
So I slid out of my chair and stood in front of him.
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and looked at me for a moment, then pulled me down onto his lap, spreading my legs in the long skirt across his thighs.
“I love you,” he said, both hands on my hips, stretching his fingers to span around each hip bone. They dug into the soft skin of my back.
He wrapped one hand around the back of my throat and pulled me down for a kiss, his mouth hard on mine. I felt the nip of his teeth on my full bottom lip.
It was so sore from pleasuring him that I had to suppress a moan of pain.
His tongue plunged inside my mouth, but I didn’t respond. My cheeks flared with heat, but my heart felt cold and dead.
“You know that, right?” my husband repeated as he broke off. His hands spanned my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. “You’re the only one I care about. They don’t mean anything to me. You’re the one I love.”
His hands were tight, his palms resting on my throat and I was sure he’d know how my heart pounded there.
When I didn’t say anything immediately, he dug his fingers in deeper. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t look away.
“What do you have to say to me?”
“Yes,” I replied promptly. “I love you, too.”
His eyes searched mine, and I tried to force my breath to slow down, keep my heartbeat from fluttering underneath his fingers.
He must have been satisfied by what he saw because I felt his fingers reach down to his scrubs and yank the cord.
He eased his cock out and then flipped my skirt up so he could drag his thick member down the length of my slit, only covered with my lacy underwear.
Michael loved the look of my conservative professional clothes paired with the naughty thrill of really slutty panties only he could see.
He grunted approvingly when he saw them, then yanked the fabric to the side so he could position his cock at my entrance.
My feet were dangling in the air, but I stretched on my tiptoes as much as I could, just barely reaching the ground, and caught my breath.
Even now, I had to consciously relax my body or he’d be unbearably big in my tight channel.
But I was very used to this too, and I breathed out carefully as he pressed his cock inside me.
1-2-3
And then again
1-2-3
Just a little further, as I worked on opening up, spreading my thighs as wide as I could.
Unfortunately, my treacherous body was always slick and wet, always ready for him. Ever since I’d met him. It was like he was the freaking Pied Piper and I was the little mouse following him worshipfully.
Stupid
He began to grind my hips down over his cock, stuffing me so full my cunt strained around him.
“This is real,” Michael said, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. “Nothing else. Don’t bring that other shit home. Not to this house.”
Back and forth he ground my body in that hypnotic motion.
Now was about the time I’d fake an orgasm.
Every time.
I didn’t half-ass it either.
I gave it the whole production, from moans to tensing my cunt in fake little pulses.
But suddenly, I didn’t feel like doing it. Didn’t feel like fucking doing it at all. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to make myself fake it.
Michael groaned as I rotated my hips over his dick, sinking as deep as I could, then using the muscles in my calves to drag my pussy up his cock so I could sink down again.
“Fuck. You feel so good.”
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, pulling my long thick hair out of its prim braid so it fell all down my back and he could tighten his fingers in it. He yanked me closer so he could kiss his way down my throat and across my collarbone.
“You can come now,” he grunted.
But I wasn’t going to.
He could try to talk me out of getting a divorce, but he wasn’t getting this.
Instead, my hands tightened on the arms of the chair, and I raised myself on my toes harder now, stretching until the muscles in my calves burned, then sinking down until my ass hit his thighs again.
Muscles screaming at me, I rotated my hips and did it again, in the way I knew he liked.
I felt powerful for the first time in a long while.
He tightened his hold on me, arms wrapped around my back now, his teeth sinking into the skin of my breasts, biting up the column of my throat.
I could feel the muscles of his stomach tensing.
“Come now,” he repeated, and I felt a slick line of sweat on his throat.
But I leaned forward so the tops of my breasts brushed against him and let out one exhale in his ear.
Just one
And he groaned, his body tensing under mine as I felt his cock twitch, spurting hot cum and coating my insides.
He had a vasectomy so I didn’t have to think about getting pregnant. Unfortunate, since I’d always wanted a baby. But when Michael had gotten one at 25, I hadn’t said anything.
My husband had been like a god to me.
If he didn’t want kids, that was all there was to it.
“Fuck,” Michael said again as I ground against him, wringing all the cum out until it was pooling on my thighs.
Then I raised my leg and pushed gently off him. His cum slid down my thigh, curled around my knee and started down my calf.
Our eyes meet for one heated second as he gripped my wrist.
“You didn’t come,” Michael said, his chest heaving.