Grant Roberts: The wayward wifes

“Oh God, dear God…”

“What’s the matter, you having second thoughts about it now?” Jennings asked contemptuously. “You were really digging my big cock a couple of minutes ago, and now you’re acting like the ravaged virgin. Shit! You’re the one responsible for what just happened, you remember that; you led me into this, swinging around, begging to be fucked and then getting fucked and liking it; and now you got the gall to pretend you were Miss Innocence in the whole affair. You’re nothing but a gutter whore, and if you don’t keep your mouth shut I’ll be the one to tell Gladys and Larry, and where’ll you be then? Right back in the gutter where you damned well belong!”

His brutal, lashing words battered her brain like a series of savage blows, and the tears came hotter and faster from her eyes. He slapped her again and said, “Well? Did you hear me?”

She could only nod, reflexively, her head still turned away from him. He grunted, satisfied, and she felt the crushing weight of his hirsute body lift off her, move to the other side of the bed.

Patty lay there for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a matter of minutes, sensing Jennings’ venal nearness, wanting to escape but knowing there was nowhere to go. She merely lay still, crying out her shame and degradation and torment.

At long last, Jennings said. “I’m going to the head, now; when I come back, honey girl, maybe we can do a little more fucking. You’ll cooperate, won’t you?"

“Yes,” she managed in a tiny, totally defeated voice.

He patted her naked, sweat-dried buttock. “That’s my honey girl,” he said in a tone which was almost gentle. Then she felt his weight lift from the bed, heard him pad into the bathroom. Moments later, there came the sound of the toilet flushing; it seemed empty and faintly ominous in the still and silent house

Patty turned over, curling into a fetal position and silently began to cry. The tears of shame and degradation rolled down her alabaster cheeks and stained the sheets, and her lips quivered with remorse and wretchedness. Yes, it was her fault. Mr. Jennings had been right She had unconsciously tried to lead him on, to excite him, to try to arouse him as a male animal. And all because her own mate, the man she had voluntarily picked out of all the other hundreds of thousands of men in the world, was away from her side and like all other women she did want to be wanted. His father was all too right: she was nothing better than a gutter whore even though she had never in her wildest dreams wanted it to go this far.

She moaned and rolled further into a ball, clenching her hands into fists and closing her arms about her tender, recently defiled flesh. Oh God… how could she ever face Larry, her dear, sweet, kind husband who was fighting so diligently in some disease ridden jungle for her and their unborn children’s sake? How could she go to him, make him happy and loving with the sperm of his father congealing inside her womb? And then another even more horrible thought hit her. What if… she were pregnant by this man… her own husband’s father!

Mr. Jennings low hum of contentment came through the bathroom door. Patty was tempted to turn over and see what he was doing, but she decided against it, preferring to act as though she was asleep. Maybe he would leave her alone, then, would honor her unconscious state and keep his hands and penis to himself. Maybe she wouldn’t be forced to again perform the lewd and perverted incest he had insisted upon.

And she had subconsciously caused. A moan of agony escaped from her lips.

Tom hummed the same monotonous tune from the bathroom to the bed. Her back was to him but Patty could picture in her mind’s eye his rapacious leer and sneering countenance and thick, bulging penis hanging from his groin and partially covered by a dewlap of belly fat. She heard him scratch his hairy chest and yawn, and she thought that this was a good sign… he was sleepy, yawning like that, and perhaps… she felt the bed sag and protest as his weight forced it down, then he climbed under the sheet and moved up against her. She could feel the warmth of his body as his naked flesh molded to hers, and her backbone became encased with his chest and stomach and her buttocks pressed against his thighs… his cock rubbed the split of her ass cheeks, tantalizingly close to her anus… and his hot breath streamed against the nape of her neck and then his hand slowly, silently began to worm its way over her side.

“Patty?” he whispered, “Are you awake, Patty?”

She tensed up, every nerve on fire from his heathen touch. She pursed her lips and refused to answer.

“Patty? I want more. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart! That bastard, that son-of-a-bitch has the gall to call me sweetheart after raping me! Patty clenched her teeth, swallowing the cry of anguish which welled within her throat. The hot tears of subjugation began to flow again. She prayed he wouldn’t notice her crying and realize she wasn’t really asleep.

His fingers continued their nasty game. They teased and pawed like lust-perverted spiders over her tender, satin skin, making goose bumps rise in their trail.

“Tomorrow, Patty,” he crooned, “Tomorrow we’ll have all day to fuck. Maybe other things, too. Good night, sweetheart.”

Oh, would he stop calling me sweetheart! And tomorrow… I can’t face the rays of sunlight and the horror of being exposed in the purity of the day. Oh, God, no! I’d rather die first! And that word… fucking… his crude, filthy degrading language makes my stomach turn inside out. And other things… what did that mean?

Patty remembered the times when Larry had wanted her to kiss his penis, to actually lean over while he stretched out on the bed and put her lips to the head of his erected organ. And he said he would kiss her between the legs in return. He had said it felt good. Not good, but fantastic. How perverted, how sickening a thought. Is this what I will be subjected to tomorrow with my father-in-law? His bulky stub of a penis jerking toward my mouth? No… no… no…! her mind screamed.

Yet Patty stayed quiet and still and presently Tom lost interest and rolled over. Soon she heard him breathe the sighs of sleep and presently he began to softly snore.

She thought what she should do. Run, Patty, run! her brain told her, but where could she go? Who was there who would protect her? Was there a man decent enough to understand what had happened and would fight off any further attempts by her father-in-law? No, she knew of none. Certainly none of Larry’s so-called friends would help. They would tell him first chance they got… that is, after trying to make love to her for themselves. Her marriage and the last vestiges of her self-respect would be shattered if she so much as dared to approach any of Larry’s friends.

Suddenly she could not stand it any longer. There were too many things to think about all at once; she was just going to have to get away, anyplace, and then worry about sorting out her tortured mind. But get away she must! Tonight! Before that mad beast beside her decided to crawl between her legs and spew his seed into her again!

She waited long enough to assure herself that her father-in-law was completely asleep and then cautiously she folded the covers back and got out of the bed. Her bare feet touched the rug and she found her slippers, then grabbing her bathrobe, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the hall. Then she stopped, and holding her breath, crept across the room, afraid with each step that he would hear her and wake up. Then she took hold of his pants and silently slipped out of the room. She rifled his pockets for his car keys and then dumping the pants on the floor, she hurried to the garage and his three-year-old Chevy Impala.