Chapter 4
Meat loaf again! Roger Tomkins glared sourly at the hamburger helper special, but held his tongue.
"Roger ... it makes me mad, leaving that poor thing down there with that old drunken fool ... " She attacked the meat loaf with a knife, whacking off a hunk and slapping it on his dinner plate as would a navy cook in a chow line.
Tactfully, Roger tuned out Dottie's voice that turned shrill under the flimsiest duress. Seventeen years of her rantings was purgatory enough for one man. Slop ... on went the mashed potatoes, piled high and lumpy.
" ... they're animals ... I don't know why the state spends the tax payers money on trying to rehabilitate creatures like that ... " she raved. "Do you want to know what happened today, Roger ... would you really like to hear?" Roger didn't bat an eyelash as he sat staring straight ahead. Her back to him, Dottie tutted disgustedly, stopped in mid-serve to wipe her forehead, brushing back steam curled bangs from her forehead.
Roger's eyes moved to stare at his wife benignly, his balding head shining in the kitchen light as he tried to conjure up in his imagination the woman he'd married back then ... the aggressive though tender young girl of twenty with the bouncing breasts, hand span waist and gently flaring hips. Where had all those bumps and curves hidden themselves over the years? Oh, he thought staring over a forkful of meat loaf, if he looked hard enough he could find them. Dorothy still had a damned beautiful body ... but getting past her mouth was the trick.
Dorothy Mildred Adderson ... what happened to you, fair thing? You were a lionness in bed back then, dear one. Pawing at my chest, pounding your heels on my back until you nearly cracked my ribs. Couldn't get enough could you ... never got enough, did you? You told me that time and time and time and time ... again ...
And those nights back in the early sixties, dear Dottie, when I was moonlighting it so you didn't have to work, dragging myself home half dead from that damned cab company at five in the morning, catching a few hours of sleep and then off to the docks for another shift I went. Yeah, that's when your complaining started. "Roger, why don't you ever make love to me ... Roger, make me feel like a woman ... Roger, who's that other woman ... I know there's one ... Roger, you're not a man!"
And now she wonders why I can't get all excited by crawling between her legs and giving her some ...
"I ... if anything happens to that poor Amy, I swear I'll raise holy hell ..."
"I'm sure you will ... " he muttered around a mouthful of potatoes.
Dottie pursed her red lips, her gimlet eyes burning coals. "What was that? Roger, I wish you wouldn't keep putting me down. Always criticizing me ... "
Roger forced a wry smile, his round blue eyes bulging over Dottie's bosom. Hell of chest, that woman has. Maybe tonight ... maybe tonight ...
Amy's mind was numbed, anesthetized ... but her body wouldn't stop its hungry rage. Her tears were blinding and she felt her way along the cool marble wall to the hallway where she scampered to the nurse's rest room, holding her gaping uniform tight with clenched fists. Her stockings were torn to shreds and her brassiere needed quick repairs if it was to hold her swollen still throbbing breasts from view. With a gasp she slammed the door shut after herself and locked it securely.
Oh, God! she wailed, taking one long look at herself in the mirror. Her mascara had streaked into clown-like black circles under her silver eyes and her mouth was red and swollen from Butch's brutal kiss and from the self-abusive biting of her lip to hold back tears and screams. She stripped off her underclothes.
The coolness of the damp wadded up paper towel felt good on her swollen pussy mound, and for a moment she held it there, feeling the cold dampness ease the throbbing somewhat. Amy lifted one foot to rest on the toilet seat and, bending the leg slightly, looked down to examine herself. Certainly there had to be some damage after his abusive attack on her loins. Her pubic mounds felt bruised from where he'd ground his hard penis against her belly. Using her fingers to separate the folds of her pussy, she held the swollen flanges apart. Dear God, it burned! These beasts who don't clip their nails ...
Butch's attack on her had had an effect she'd refused to admit. A strange thrill raced through her body making her forget about pride and pain. Her fingers continued their probing. Rubbing seemed to help the swelling, she discovered; in fact it felt very good, so she stroked the lips of her cunt slowly at first, then increased the rhythm to include the oily marble of her clitoris. That's when her legs started to shiver and goose bump. Oh, God, why couldn't he have touched her there? Ohhh, it feels too good to stop. It was quick this time. She clenched her teeth. I'm going ... to ... to cum!
She began moving her buttocks in a rocking motion, tilting her pelvis to meet the thrusting and stroking of her fast-moving fingers. Then she came ... a wail hissing through her teeth. Head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open, she stroked faster and faster until the sweet pain weakened her and she fell to the bathroom floor, exhausted. Her fingers, she noticed, dripped with a sticky female ooze that smelled heavily of lust.
Then lament set in ... lament and self-contempt.