Chapter 12
"Roger ... honey?" Dottie ran a hairbrush through her long lustrous locks, studying her image from the vanity stool stationed in front of her dresser. The sound of tinkling change and keys clunking on the night table made her spin around to see Roger slip out of his pants, his short hairy legs looking comically grossly disproportionate to the wide girth of his boxer short legs.
Their eyes met for a second before Roger hastily averted his glance. Dottie wasn't quite Dottie these days ... she wasn't even twenty year old Dorothy Mildred Adderson, the bouncy breasted aggressive girl he'd married back then. This stranger who hadn't slurred a single disparaging remark in his face for forty-eight hours was curiously eyeing him now. The bald man's round blue eyes sparked in her direction, then retreated, filling in the silent pace with the sigh of clothes being peeled from his body.
"Roger ... don't put those on," she purred.
"Wh-what?" Roger straightened, ready for the bite. "I always wear pajamas." His voice cracked shrilly with belligerence.
Dottie slammed down the hair brush, her black negligee gaping shamelessly at the neck, letting the milky mounds of her succulent breasts (still bearing the reddened welts of Josh's abrasive lovemaking) spill over the see-through fabric. As she slung her hips, he could see the tip of one puffy nipple winking up at him. Roger gulped. Something diabolically bewitching about this woman replaced the dry, brittle brusqueness ... something he couldn't face naked. He reached for his pajamas, glaring at her out of the corner of his eyes. And she was wearing make-up. Lots of it! ... gopped around her eyes darkening them into sloe slits.
Her hand slashed out to pluck his wadded up pajamas from his fist, held them out from an outstretched arm and dropped them to the floor. "From now on, lover ... you won't need those."
Roger blinked and rubbed his eyes, staring slack jawed as his wife wriggled one creamy shoulder until the loosely hanging spaghetti strap slithered off her nakedly, taking with it the dark patch hiding her bosom. In some corny calendar pose, she wriggled free of the other strap until the bodice slunk down unveiling her shapely body like a plaster figure shedding its plastic mold.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Roger cowered, thinking, 'Don't taunt my masculinity, Dorothy ... or so help me God!'
"Our sex life has been lacking spice, wouldn't you say, Roger?" She pooched out her rouged lips.
Roger nodded dumbly, his eyes hadn't blinked since this strange vixen stood naked in front of him. The white moons of her buttocks bounced provocatively as she spun on her heel and sacheted to the vanity, her breasts hanging like two succulently ripened fruits, and drew open the lower vanity drawer.
"What the hell is that? For heaven's sake, Dottie, what are you doing!"
Assiduously she went to work, straightening out the clothes line rope. Free of knots, then, she tossed it to her husband, lopping it around his neck. Demurely, she sat down on the chair, knees pressed together, hands clasped behind her back.
"Tie me up, Roger and then use your belt on me."
"Have you gone daft, woman?" He stared long and hard, scratching his naked scalp, the rusted wheels in his brain suddenly lubricated by the heady idea of her asking him to do what he'd craved to do for seventeen long years ... tie her up, shut her up. Imperceptibly the wrinkles smoothed and a smug grin straightened the downcast corners of his mouth, a strange flicker alighting his eyes. He stood potently erect. "Sailors knots or slip knots?"
Dottie grew impatient. "For Godsakes hurry up, Roger. Tie me up so I can't move and slap me around with your belt. When I tell you to quit leave my hands tied and then ... fuck me!" Her eyes gored into his, daring him, egging him on.
The right corner of his mouth curled in a grin and elfishly, he stepped behind her, wrapped the rope around her slender wrists, tying it securely. He gave it a little tug for good measure. The black belt with the silver buckle was his choice. Testing it, he snapped it against the bed a couple of times and seemingly satisfied, let it sing in the air.
He cringed, hearing that ugly slap of leather against naked flesh. Bile choked at his throat and sweat popped out on his forehead, but he raised his arm back just the same. He stopped after the second slash left a red welt on his wife's back.
Dottie moaned and stiffened, her head jolting back from the biting impact, her slitted eyes imploring up at him with a message that made his spine tingle.
Oh God, this is my wife ... I can't ...
"Do it, Roger. Do it again!"
"You asked for it!" Slap!
"Ag-gg-hh-hh ... ss-ss-hh-hg-gh-hh."
Slap!
"Aaaggghhhhh ... "
A strange stirring awakened in Roger's tired loins, some kind of charging hell bent virility that knotted his guts. Not since that first teenage romp in the sack ... no, not even then ...
Slap!
"Aa-ag-gg-hh-hh-ss-ss ... " Dottie was hissing through her teeth now, her nipples puckered and hard. "Take me now, Roger!" Her voice was husky with lust.
Roger gritted his teeth, his upper lip snarling in sadistic rapture. He pushed his wife's naked body off the stool, kicked it aside, and stood like William the Conqueror above his wife's groveling on the floor. He ripped off his shorts and pounced on her, flipping her over on her back.
"You said fuck you ... we'll start with mouth," he growled, wiggling his fat knees into her arm pits and thrusting his hard cock into her mouth.
"Oh-hhh ... mf-ff-f ... " she mumbled around the solid mouthful, her pupils dilated in lust. Not a whimper of pain sounded when her wheezing husband grabbed her brutally by the hair to mash her face into his groin until his balls spanked against her chin.
"After this, dear one ... I'm fucking you in the cunt ... and after that we'll roll you over for some ol' fashioned cornholin'!"
"Mm-mm-ff-ff ... yess-ss ... oh Gawddd, yes-ss!" Dottie bobbed her chin up and down, her eyes sparked with eagerness. Oh you beautiful man ... you wonder bastard ... finally you're acting like a man!