Chapter 6
"Have you been seeing anyone else?" David Brennan's tone was conversational and mild, but the question surprised Jill nonetheless. It seemed a violation of the borders and limits he had himself set on their agreed to infidelity.
"Why?" Outwardly the scene was so normal as to be boring. The kids were away with David's sister and her husband at their cabin in Big Bear. Husband and wife sat in the breakfast nook, illuminated by the California sun on a quiet Saturday morning, the trees in the backyard still in the summer heat
"Because you weren't even here last night. That would indicate that you were the one who had been out on the town. I was at home with the children."
"I was entertaining a client"
"The client kept you out until after three-I was up until then reading. Anyway, it was your idea. You were the one who wanted to fuck everyone in sight. I agreed. O.K.? "
Brennan did not answer, but his color seemed to rise. His lips pursed in unconcealed anger. "There is someone, then."
"And if there is? You warded, it that way, you prick."
He rose and leaned across the breakfast table. He raised his arm and swung at her. His knuckles jammed into her cheekbones. Her first impulse was to scream, but she could not find her voice. She sucked in on her cheek to ease the pain; her tongue rolled over the inner skin as David stood there, waiting-for something. She could not really appraise the look in her husband's face. Was he sorry he'd hit her? Or was his anger unabated?
Her answer came when he leaned forward again and put his hands behind her neck, his fingertips digging into the base of Jill's skull. He shook her with incredible force-the blood inside her head swum madly-and Jill was afraid, though still the scream he had forced from her chest was still buried in her throat.
He let go of her and moved to the other side of the table. His hands went under her arms and he lifted her up from the upholstered bench; her breasts swung free under the nightgown she still wore. His left hand clutched tightly at her upper arm, squeezing the muscles against the bone, 'and he raised his right hand to smack her face, this time landing the blow upon her chin. His slap stunned her and her eyes blinked wildly like those of a frightened bird as she waited for the next assault. He doubled his fist and ran the knuckles over her lips, pushing the inner lips against her teeth and scraping them.
The first sound she made was a sob that rocked her body, heaving her breasts and making the nipples jut out pointed and sharp beneath the sheer fabric. Brennan rewarded her with a wide blow with his forearm as he released his grip on her bicep. Her nose began to bleed as she tumbled to the floor. She doubled up, not in pain but in anticipation of it, her chin aiming for her knees. But David, at her side, kicked her legs out from under her and she lay there, flat and supine, afraid now to move for fear of the punishment he would apply.
Brennan stood there between her outstretched legs, his shoe heels even with her toes. She could not interpret his facial expression which was un-like any she had known in the years she'd been married to him. It was cruel, ruthless, and yet it seemed to mix those emotions with a land of good spirited fun. For a moment Jill toyed with the idea that this might be an elaborate "put-on" but she dismissed the guess quickly when she saw him cover the buckle of his belt with his hand and pull the leather away from the metal nail.
He exhaled and his stomach sagged behind his trousers. The belt came smoothly through the loops, and then the long black-leather tongue hung from his doubled fist, the flash of silver evident between and beneath his bent fingers. He raised his hand while a spasm of fear fled up Jill's spine, but then appeared to reconsider. The next moment, however, his hand came up and this time his mouth was taut with determination and his eyes purposeful.
"Please, David, don't!" she implored him as the end of the whip bit into her belly. Her voice was a dull whimper. Her stomach was hot and sore with the echo of the lash; she cringed in time with what had become the rhythm of this beating and her muscles stiffened as if to brace the bonework below them.
David Brennan stood there, coldly determined, excited by his wife's pain. He moved his wrist and the end of the belt lightly stroked his wife's belly below the navel. He moved his arm back, and the belt's tail sneaked in between her legs, touching (through the thin night-dress) the moss that covered her pudendum.
Surprising herself, Jill's legs clamped tightly together as if to hold leather between her limbs, over her pussy. When she did this she realized also that the inside of the vagina had itself exuded some moisture and she was now wet with the preliminary stage of sexual excitation. She wondered if her breathing-deep and heavy, now-could be, with this moisture, evidence that she was actually enjoying the whipping. She had heard of women who liked their men to beat them and she had wondered what kind of women they could possibly be.
She tried not to think of that. If she were enjoying the attack would she feel this uncertain about it? she asked herself. For the moment, however, she was reluctant to admit it, even if it was true, and in bracing herself for each brush of the strap, she was guarding himself, numbing herself to sensation, pleasurable or painful.
Brennan kneeled. He was wrapping the belt around his hand and his thumb kept the buckle in his palm. This-and the weird glow in her husband's eye-made Jill afraid, more afraid even than before. She held her breath and waited; she could not guess what he would do next-or else she was afraid to guess.
He pressed his hand, the palm side, against her breast. Her nipple was separated from the metal by two layers of the black leather. He forced the belt into the nipple, covering it completely with the width of leather. Jill gasped; there was no question that this excited her. Her tit became instantly erect. When he took the hand and the belt away, the whole areola was filled with a burning sensation.
He removed his hand and let his fingers fall from one breast to the other; the two boobs shook gently, like gelatin. His hand then went lower, out of sight, before Jill shut her eyes for what would come next
He had gone under the hem of the shortie gown and he brought the doubled-over whip against the oiled crease; his palm touched the hairy borders of the cut. He pushed hard and her clit swelled. His first finger and his small finger rolled lightly over the skin of her thighs. A wet groan came from Jill's throat and it was followed by a low, deep chuckle out of her husband's mouth.
"You cunt," he said cruelly. "You filthy little cunt"
The recitation of this epithet seemed to excite him further, and she winced as he stroked the labia with the belt then turned his hand and aimed the leather just inside the hole as he pressed down hard. "Oh...." she sighed, and if one did not know the circumstances, one could not be sure whether the exclamation were one of pleasure or displeasure.
He drew his hand back from under the gown. He moved his hand and shook it loose of the coil which then once more dripped from his fist. He put his left hand under the buckle and his right hand released the metal, taking the leather near the end. His other hand dropped its hold on the whip and he took the first few inches of material and teased Jill's beaver with the feel of it. It tickled her as it rustled through the cunt hair. Her clit was now a puffy pinkish pimple. He held the belt sideways and the edge of it moved inside the quim.
His fingers hooked into the orifice and he began to stuff the leather inside. Jill's heels dug into the mattress and her ass lifted off the bed. Her buttocks were jammed tight together, but the insides of the vagina dilated wide around the injected material, before, in the next moment, clamping even more tightly upon it with well-lubricated walls.
His free hand pressed at her right breast. Her tit was still sharp, but the granules inside the areola grew richly erect as he rubbed the thumb into the fabric and the fabric slid over the red-brown circle of sensitive flesh.
The inside of her cunt was soggy now and Jill was frightened by the way her whole body waited for each new sliding of the leather into her pussy. Her husband's four fingers curled into the twat while his thumb drew the inch-and-a-half wide strip from within. The moistened cowhide ran through the sex-hair, curly and thick, over the button. He jammed it down on the clitoral ridge and her spine arched so that she could meet the thrust with a counterstroke.
Her thighs still ached with the previous lashes and a swath of welt-like redness had already begun to rise on the hairless surface of Jill's thighs. The tongue slipped and the limbs caught it. The moisture on the surface cooled the sore muscle and a guttural moan of satisfaction escaped her throat.
Her eyes were closed, but she needed only the tender nerves at her hole to tell her what her husband was applying to the external flesh there: she shivered with the cold of the belt buckle. He rolled the curved edge of the fastening device from side to side over the crevice, then drew it back. More gingerly than Jill realized he pulled the labia at one side of the cunt from the matching flaps at the other and he inserted the long thin spike in the cavity. Her voice was soft and pleading now, quiet and reasonable, as if she were talking to a child or to a madman. "Please don't hurt me, David... please. I won't do anything again. I love you. Please, David. Please...." Her body broke with waves of violent sobbing. He pulled it from her gently.
He stood and the leather moved against her skin. He moved back and the strap jumped. He struck her with it again and the air around the switch whistled with speed. Her legs jumped; she drew her knees toward her at the same time her legs separated involuntarily.
She was hysterical now as he beat her again and again. Her skin was discolored with blotches of red and deathly white. The tip of the belt hit her knees and she felt as if she were falling in the center of a universe in which she was weightless.
The sides of his right shoe moved between her legs. Would he kick her-there? she asked herself, terrified. The hem of the gown was raised by the toe of the shoe and finally he stopped within inches of the sopping wet pussy.
He bent down and he tore the nightie from its center, from the hem up. It ripped easily and her nakedness almost fell out on his hands as he split the neckline above her heavy jugs.
His hands opened and he rubbed the soft flesh; the nipples were hard and Jill's rushing blood made them warm. His left hand kept playing with them while he put his right hand between her sprawled legs. She was slickly wet "Goddamn," he said, amused, as if to himself. "You enjoy it, don't you?"
It was almost as if this discovery enraged him afresh. He pushed her on her stomach; she responded with a passivity so complete that she was like a doll of real flesh. Her back and backside were still covered, although his eyes could survey the curve of her spine and the swelling of her plush butt cheeks.
He reached to her sides, closed his hands 'round the material and ripped it toward him; it shredded, but she was almost naked. She sobbed deeply and her ass shook before his fingers singed into her flesh, bruising it with the hunger of his touch. He scratched her and drew two small trickles of blood on the left can, one break in the skin on the right cheek. He brought his fingers close together and stuck his hand sideways into the crack. He felt the heat coming from her rectum and shoved his bones against it; another spasm pulled her out of reach and he pulled the hand away, only to swing down on her shoulders and deliver a loud slap.
He was on his knees. He put one hand on the linoleum floor and pushed up, rising awkwardly. He was breathing heavily, straining his chest-his throat wheezed with dryness-and his cock strained at the crotch of his trousers. He pulled at his zipper and held the prick in his hand. The slit was covered with gleaming white goo. He pulled the foreskin back as if to test the machine, but then let go; it sprung in the air and then rested, straight and stiff. His balls were surging with blood and heavy cream.
The leather touched her nude rump and made it bounce. She pressed her cheeks together and waited; the next lash was even wilder, stronger, and ripped over more skin, but this time, when he was through, the leather stayed upon the flesh and reminded Jill of what it could feel like, sensuous and soft, against the skin.
He hit her calves below the knees, and an instant bruise arose. He crouched and took the last eight inches of the whip and beat her heel so that the pain made her almost faint.
Still the clammy feeling in her organ offered a conflicting sensation, one of pleasure, one of desire. He had grown more rhythmic in the strokes he applied with the belt and now the inside of her hole wanted the same steady friction until she could let go and come.
And it was David who excited her. He seemed, however perversely, excited by her. He had never been so enthusiastic about any sexual contact they had had for months, even the last year. She could blow him in no special way that could make him breathe like this.
"Fuck me," she dared to whisper, her lips still pressed to the kitchen floor. "Fuck me," she said, a shade louder, when his hand was still and he waited wordlessly for her to repeat what she had said.
"You really like it in here, don't you, you cunt?"
"What?" In the second after she pronounced the question she was not sure if she had said anything. Her body burned with pain and the heat of pain, but her mind filled suddenly with images of Christopher. Blowing Christopher while the soup bubbled, his warm come streaming from the corners of her mouth when he erupted, while she tried to swallow each last drop of the fluid. Having Christopher fuck her right here, right on the floor.
"You know what I mean." His voice was grim. The heat of shame passed through Jill's cheeks.
"How-" How did he know?
"When I came home the tip of my shoe slid on something right here in the kitchen. I looked at the sole. It was semen, you fucking bitch!"
Jill started to cry, and she hardly knew why. Was she sorry? No-she knew that as soon as she asked herself the question; she loved Christopher too much. But... she realized how much she did not want to lose David-not for good.
He dangled the tail of leather between her legs; it just barely touched her labia through the weave of twat hair. "Still want it?" His voice was strangely calm. "Still want me to fuck you?"
"Yes." He could barely hear her, but instinctively he knew what her response would be. She did not move; perhaps she was ashamed to move, to turn her body to his, to face him.
"Then beg for it."
"Fuck me. Please fuck me." And then, after a pause: "I'm sorry... fuck me, please, David, do it to me." Tears wet her cheeks and dripped off onto the floor, creating tiny puddles under her eyes.
David Brennan lowered himself to the floor as though he were about to pray. His knees fit between her thighs, but he spread the upper legs still wider with his hands. His cock pushed against the rims of her fleshy buttocks, but when he pushed forward and put the palms on the linoleum at the sides of her hips it shoved against the deep copper of Jill's bush.
Brennan reached behind him and slipped his hands under his wife's legs just below the kneecaps. He pressed at them, sending her heels toward her butt. He grabbed her ankles with his hands and now balanced himself on them. He shifted his weight from side to side as the dome touched the hole but could not fight its way in past the converging lips.
Jill reached behind her and took hold of his instrument, shoving back so the head swam between the soggy borders of the cunt. He drove in until their hairs tangled together. He was reluctant to leave the warm, soft harbor, but a shiver in his wife's pelvis pushed him back; he surged in again on the next beat. His thumbs stroked the arches of Jill's soles, making her giggle even as the painful bruises and welts were eased by the perfect pressure of his dong in her snatch.
"Say it again," he said, and his voice was clotted with mucous. His wife knew what he meant. "Fuck me! Fuck me hard!"
He stroked her forcefully and quickly, swift blunt strokes that made the walls cry out for more. She was pinned under him, barely moving, but she came before he did, though the warm wash of his gism when he let go triggered her second climax.
Breathlessly she repeated the words. "I'm sorry," even as his weakened body lay limp on her ass and spine. His pubic hair tickled the rims of her ass cheeks. i
"That's OK, " he said, and his voice was almost sleepy. His fingertips pressed lightly into the sides of her breasts from behind her arms. She knew at once the truth of those words: now that he had vented his rage he was again no longer interested.
At least for a while.