Chapter 10

Bob went on with his sleepwalker's existence, his only salvation being those nights and weekends when he fled to the solace of Penny's arms, of Penny's loins. There was always his job at the blacksmith shop, where he worked off his frustrations. At home, he ate sullenly, read his newspapers, saw to other minor needs. He still slept in his own bed, even though Ardis still persisted in the nightly ritual of moving her pillow into the guest room. In the morning, she was up before him; his breakfast and his lunch pail were always ready when he entered the kitchen. Once or twice he'd restated his ultimatum, had told her to get a lawyer, to start divorce proceedings. He was giving her ample grounds-infidelity, blatant and unremitting-she must make the first move. If he lost everything he'd worked for all these years to her rapacious demands, so be it.

But each time he mentioned divorce, Ardis glared venomously at him. There would be no divorce. He could play his adulterer's role to the hilt; she would abide in hers as the wronged, steadfast, and loyal wife. Divorce was an abomination in the sight of God. She wouldn't risk His wrath by being party to such sacrilege.

Other than that, there was no other intercourse. Only the hateful glares, .the silences that drove him from the house night after night. Sometimes he went to Penny. Other times there were the card games with other married men who were solving their problems by ignoring them. This escape was better than none at all.

And yet there was an eerie, unaccountable change in Ardis, something he couldn't quite put his finger upon. Though he never touched her after that night, he was possessed by the uncanny feeling that if he would, Ardis would not rebuff him. Were he to insist on his conjugal rights, she seemed to say, she would honor his desire. Granted, she most definitely wouldn't wallow and writhe, become the passionate woman he wanted, but he could take his pleasure with her to at least that limited extent.

There was another glaring change in her temperament. Where she'd once been sanctimonious and holier-than-thou, her actions now became more demented than pious. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, there was a subtle aura of sexuality about her these days.

Unless Bob was wrong, Ardis was fussing with herself more than before. And while she still didn't affect makeup, he did notice that she'd started wearing some of her old clothes-pretty, figure-revealing items. She bought some new minor items-sheer, dark hosiery, two pairs of modish shoes, even seductive lingerie-and Bob couldn't help but feel a certain pity for her. Was she actually trying? Too late, of course, but wasn't she actually waiting, expecting him to make the first move?

At times, the concept jarred him, and he thought to take her up on her bid. But then, recalling how she'd deceived him the last time, gone cold at the crucial moment, he quickly quashed such lust. How could he even think of such a thing when he loved Penny, wanted Penny as much as he did?

Day by day, the fanaticism became more rampant; it seemed she talked to herself aloud more often, that she shot lunatic glances every chance she got, as if she were bargaining, making peace with an angry savior. She seemed downright loony at times.

The hideous, unexpected crisis came one night in early October. Indian summer was at its peak and even after sundown the temperature still held at a balmy eighty degrees. Ardis, strangely coquettish, had suggested they drive to Dolton to take in a movie. Bob was well aware of her low regard of motion pictures. And Dolton? Twenty miles away? When there was a perfectly good movie theater in Garrett Park?

She was doing it for him, she alibied. She thought it was time they did something together for a change. Plainly agitated, she finally blurted the truth out. "I don't want anyone from the temple seeing me going in there. Please, Bob?" she wheedled. "Can't we go?"

It was a dull night. He was restless, and he finally relented. Ardis had dressed prettily, even wore perfume.

They reached Dolton in time for the second show. It was a Western, of all things, an epic strongly laced with violence and innuendo, and he was sorry he'd brought Ardis. Strangely enough, she didn't sniff at the film's heavy sex content, if anything, she was excited by it, and, as they came out of the theater there was an unnatural pallor to her flesh, a dark glitter to her eyes.

It was eleven by then. The evening had cooled somewhat, but it was still extraordinarily warm. A thin sliver of moon hung in the sky, giving the night a hazy translucence. It was as they left Dolton behind them and headed down the new highway for home that Ardis said a very strange thing.

"It's nothing like that old road. Remember, Bob? Before we were married? Remember how we used to park? The things we used to do?"

He was almost embarrassed. "I should think that'd be the last thing you'd wanna remember."

A spooky smile curved her lips. "A woman can change her mind, can't she? Do you think, Bob ... if you tried ... you could find that country road again? Could we go back there?"

A shudder ran down his spine. "Ardis? You sure you know what y'r talking about? You wanna go there now?"

"Yes, now." She leaned forward, stared ahead, and in that moment she was transformed; it was almost as if ten years hadn't passed, as if they were transported back in time. Bob trembled uncontrollably; he found himself suffused with hot desire. His penis slowly unlimbered in his trousers. "Oh, please, Bob? This one last time?"

He drove like he was in a trance. His heart pounded and he dared to. dream the wildest dreams. He found the country road easily and veered right. Then he found the high, thick hedge to the left-a virtual forest now. The farmer's access road was there and, impulsively, he turned in. The lights were out; the engine was killed. He sat in the darkness, staring out, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dull glow of the moonlight.

"Do you suppose ... Bob? Could we get out?

There's a blanket in back, isn't there? We could ... sit on that a little while."

Bob got out, went to the back, and produced the dusty blanket which was wrapped around some steel tarp stakes. As he picked up the bundle viciously, he tried to clear his head, but the fever was too strong; he simply couldn't think straight. Whatever was going on in Ardis' mind, whatever this was all about-he had to find out. Moving like a sleepwalker, he spread the blanket on a flat, grass-turfed spot, using the stakes to secure the cover at each corner.

"Ardis?" he called softly. "You wanna come out now?"

The springs creaked. He heard the click of the door latch. Then the dome light came on and caught Ardis as she scrambled out. In that moment, catching a glimpse of white flesh, of contrasting black lingerie, he froze, didn't dare believe his eyes. But then the door slammed, and Ardis walked toward him, hesitant, ghostly, stripped to her lingerie-true harlot's rags.

Most curious of all, she still carried her white purse-a curious parody of a prim and proper female setting off on a morning's shopping trip. His breath caught in his throat; his jaw dropped and his eyes bulged. This apparition-cool as a cucumber? Ardis? His high-and-mighty wife? He must be dreaming this! He'd most certainly wake up any minute now.

She unconcernedly dropped to her knees on the blanket's center, rolling into sitting position. And still he couldn't take his eyes off Ardis. That underwear-jet black, shimmering, dripping with lace trim-where had she got it? It had to be new, purchased with but one purpose in mind-to drive Bob completely out of his skull!

"Your clothes, Bob," the words finally cut through. "Aren't you going to take them off? Seems to me, the last time we were here, you couldn't strip down fast enough." She turned her head and surveyed the surroundings. "It almost seems the same, doesn't it?"

A moment later, his fingers clumsy, frenzied, he was undoing buttons, forcing buckles, yanking zippers. His penis swung free, slapping wetly against his thighs as he dropped to his knees and crawled toward her. The next minute the abyss of the years was closed between them; they were in a hot, passionate embrace, their yearning lips meshed, grinding, devouring.

He moaned and sank deeper into baffled trance. Bob was in no mood to question the development. Greedily, he tore at Ardis with lips and teeth and famished fingers. Her flesh, her sweet flesh. Soft, yielding, willing, as it had once been. The velvety plumpness of her breasts, of her hard tits. The moist, crisp mat between her welcoming legs. The fat puffiness of her slick vagina. The sizzling, electric smoothness of her nyloned legs. The cold slipperiness of her pumps against his ankles, his naked calves. The odor of her mouth, of her nipples. Of her pungent, woman-rich vagina.

The shoes were flung aside. The sheer hosiery was unsnapped from her garter belt. The brassiere and the panties floated magically away. Now he undid her garter belt, whisked it into the gloom. Voraciously, his mouth was at her succulent tits. His hand was between her legs, his finger instantly, slickly invading her. He groaned, wanted to grind her into his arms, to crush her, pulverize her. But then gradually, his passion evened out. Not of his own volition, but mystically, almost as if Ardis had willed it.

"I'm afraid, Bob," she creaked, vestiges of her old self breaking through. "I'm afraid of how I'll act. I'm afraid I'll disappoint you again. Please, honey? like you did that one time? Tie me down. Don't give me a chance. Make me do those things! I will, I swear! Only you have to be boss. You have to force me! No matter what I say, no matter how much I fight ... you must be strong." Her eyes rolled crazily. "You must master me! Make me every evil thing you've ever wanted!"

For an eternity he was frozen over her, his eyes bulging, his spine shrinking inch by inch in his back, each shortening making him twitch and gasp. "I don't have anything, Ardis," he blurted, "to ... tie you with."

Then the prim purse made sense. "In my bag, darling. Some old stockings. I brought them along ... just in case. Oh, please! You will, Bob, won't you? You will! You must! I need that so. I've been so cruel to you. Now you must be cruel to me."

Five minutes later, he had pounded the stakes firmly into the ground and trussed Ardis in a spread-eagled X across the blanket, her limbs stretched to breaking point. He stood over her, stared at the luminously glowing body, the dark smudges of her nipples, at the patch of black fur marking the heart of that human cross. He assessed the addled glitter in her eyes, her pleading, gibberish dripping mouth.

"Do it to me. Begin. Master me. Make me do the things a woman ... a real woman ... should!"

It was then that a blazing spark ignited his brain. It was then that he finally recalled where he'd seen that crazed diabolic glitter in a woman's eyes before. Ardis' face seemingly melted and was replaced by the leering, babbling one that had belonged to-

The name, the name! Who was it! Where had their paths crossed before? Where?

Then the image clarified. Edna-his brain regurgitated. That apartment in Nashville. Edna and her leather whip, that same whip he'd lashed her with, the whip she'd jammed up his very ass.

He swayed, groaning sickly as the meaning staggered him. Dear God, No! Not Ardis! She wasn't like that! She wasn't a masochist, was she?

Or was she? Wasn't self-mortification, self-denial, self-denigration the uttermost touchstone of Christianity. Abuse the flesh, in Christ's name! Now images of the flagellants of Italy and Mexico, of monks who whipped themselves on pilgrimages until they drew blood, flashed before his eyes. Those exhibitionistic penitents who jammed crowns of thorns on their foreheads in emulation of Christ. The ones who bore crushingly heavy crosses for miles during Holy Week. Weren't there holy orders in which self-mortification of the flesh was basic ritual!

But Ardis? Was this humiliation and abuse what she really wanted? Had she been building to this moment all of their married life? Was she now to use him as an implement of that most incandescent of all religious ecstasies?

The thoughts were instantaneous, shattering; they came and went until, very quickly, they ceased to register at all. The only thing that remained was lust. Pure and simple lust.

like some blind, snarling beast, he fell upon Ardis. He hobbled upward on her body, his penis leaving a slippery trail on her belly and between her breasts. He paused to taunt her breasts. He exulted in the way Ardis flopped with ecstasy at the defamation. Moments later, virtually sitting on her heaving breasts, he was slithering his penis back and forth across her pleading lips.

His lips curled in supreme disgust. Ardis had been a masochist all the time, only he'd been too stupid to see it. Those other time she'd stopped too soon! He'd become terrified, backed off. When all the time, in her depraved heart, Ardis had been begging him to go on, to force her to accept what was, without her ever knowing it, her most basic nature-the drive motivating her entire life.

"Please, please," she howled now. "Don't torture me, darling." Her voice was guttural, thick, demented. "Give it to me. Shove it into me. Into my mouth. My dirty, sinful mouth. Rape me with it. Shove it right down my evil throat."

Again his stomach tilted as he recalled Edna Gurley.

Again lust overcame revulsion, and he adjusted and tormented Ardis further by working his tool over her eyes, her nose, back to her mouth, her teeth again. And finally, her head straining up, her lips smacking and popping as she missed capturing him in her mouth, he gave her that tasty gift He eased his tool into her slowly, carefully; he gloried in her contented, humming mutters of pleasure. He'd been sucked in his time by experts. But none of them could compare with the way this transformed slut was gobbling him, virtually drawing him out by the roots.

He stood it as long as he could. And for once in his life, he wanted to feel it spurt deep in her sanctimonious mouth; he wanted to feel her throat muscles constrict as she swallowed every drop of his. come.

But Ardis groaned. She clamped her teeth murderously on him. His hand lashed out, and he slapped her twice. "Open up, slut!" he spat. "Open that gate, or else." Another head-jolting slap. "Open up! Take your punishment like a good little girl. like the good little pig you are!"

Ardis' whole body exploded in an ecstatic spasm. The cries issuing from her throat reflected pure delight and gratitude. Her jaws fell open and his penis battered in, pausing only when it hit the depths of her throat. He adjusted his stroke and began slamming in and out of her in a steady cadence.

"Yes," he growled. "Yes, you cocksucking bitch! Chew it, suck it. Get it hard again so I can slam it up your rotten, diseased cunt."

Perhaps five minutes later, the world long since left behind them, his penis was restretching in her mouth. When it was hard and clean, sparkling wetly in the dim light, he yanked it away from her. A moment later he was between her legs, slamming his penis into her vagina with one, vicious movement. Ardis screamed with pain and ecstasy.

He called her every dirty, demeaning name under the sun. Ardis flourished beneath the perverted praise. She orgasmed-real orgasms; no one could fake climaxes like those-and orgasmed again. It was the first time she'd come in years. Then Bob was booming inside her.

Again he hung over her face. Again Ardis eagerly strained to suck his tool. Again she restored it to hardness.

What came next she didn't want, but she got it just the same. Reduced to bestial frenzy by then, Bob untied her ankles, bringing her legs up perpendicular to her torso. Holding her firmly by the ankles, he forced his penis into her ass. Ardis screamed and pleaded as best she could, but with her wrists tied, she was helpless. The crescendo of her screams climbed as he buried himself to the testicles in her anus. Then, as the pain was blunted, as the magnitude of her vilification registered, she sank into a grateful, slobbering oblivion once more.

The narrowness of her anus, the snuffling joy of her cries, coaxed still another charge-watery and hot-from him. He douched her bowels generously, brutally; he exulted in her filthy descriptions, in her sublime joy.

"So hot, darling!" she shrilled. "So scalding hot! I feel so dirty, so evil!"

But the travesty of love wasn't over yet, for now, miraculously, Bob found himself kneeling away from her, his leather belt in his hands. "Please, please, please..." she chanted fanatically. "I've been bad, very bad. I've been evil. I've broken God's most sacred laws. I've honored Satan. I've been a whore, a slut. You must punish me. As God will punish me! Oh, do it, Bob! Do it! Whip me until I bleed!"

He emerged from a trance to find himself hovering over Ardis, the belt rising and falling on her legs, her thighs, her belly, her breasts, even her face. He was punishing himself as well, taking out his self-loathing and disgust on her with brutality. But if Ardis was in torment, one would never know it. She was seemingly in sexual transport; she writhed and jumped on the blanket ecstatically.

One of the stockings tore loose from a stake and she managed to flop on her belly. She offered her virginal back and buttocks for the kiss of the lash. At the last he forced her to his penis again. She must clean him a last time; she must remove the residue from his rod. She did it willingly, eagerly, so long as he whipped her.

When it ended, Bob. couldn't quite recall. The next thing he knew, he was standing away from Ardis; he was crashing into the underbrush, where he finally stopped and heaved into the grass. He heaved and heaved.

Ardis was sitting in dreamy swoon on the blanket when he returned; she was rapturously daubing, the blood from her body, humming happily as she did so. An ugly welt on one cheek was bleeding, and her mouth was smudged with blood.

"We'll come again, won't we, darling?" Ardis said in a childish singsong. "You'll do this again, won't you? You'll punish Ardis for the unredeemed sinner she is?"

How they got home, into the house without being seen, Bob never knew. But they managed somehow and got the babysitter out of the house without her seeing Ardis or suspecting something was insanely awry. No sooner were they alone when Ardis flung herself at his feet again, clung to his legs, and tried burying her bruised, welted face into his crotch again.

He kicked her aside and left the house. He fought nausea all the way to the car. Then the engine roared. He sped into the night as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Halfway to Jessup, he stopped at a roadside phone booth to call Penny. "I've got to see you, darling," he pleaded. The desperation in his voice was signal enough, and she quickly agreed to meet him at their favorite motel.

The motor court owner wasn't happy about being awakened at that hour, but, when Bob flashed two twenties before his eyes, he instantly ceased his grumbling.

Bob fell to his knees before Penny and buried his face in her thighs the minute the door was locked behind them. A second later, her skirts were turned back; her panties were torn away. And in mock penitence of his own, Bob dedicatedly, noisily, desperately gobbled her vagina as if his life depended upon it.

"I love you, Penny," he proclaimed from time to time as he came up for air. "I love you, love you! I want and need you. We can't go on like this. Something good has to happen fr Us soon. Oh, God, if I can't have you, I simply don't wanna go on living."

Bob was never to realize just how prophetic his words would one day turn out to be.