Milton Granby - Four to a bed

“But where were you all day? I’ve been out of my mind with worry!” Sandy said plaintively, worried by her husband’s unusual reticence.

“For God’s sake, Sandy, stop nagging at me with your questions! Can’t you see I’m tired and in no mood for talking!”

“I… I only… I was so worried… “Sandy began, tears checking her mumbled words.

“Oh Christ, Sandy, must you carry on like this? Try and act like an adult, for once!”

The shocked hurt look on his wife’s face was like a punch in the jaw. All color drained from her face, and was replaced with a deathly pallor.

“Look Sandy, I… he began weakly, alarmed by what he had done.

“Don’t you ‘look Sandy’ me!” she retorted, anger mounting inside her. Deep hurt had blazed the way for a terrible fury.

“You walk in here, without an explanation, after getting out of jail at 9:00 this morning! Nine a.m.! What I’d like to know is where you spent the day, mister!” She had risen to her feet and was glaring at him, her hands on her hips in a typical defiant pose.

“And let me tell you that it’s none of your goddamned business!” Harry snarled, his anger mounting and overpacing the overwhelming fountain of his guilt. He hadn’t meant to be so bad-tempered with Sandy, but somehow, her angelic innocence and slightly martyred air irked him and seemed to show him in a blacker light than the already very dark reality.

“I was driven crazy with worry about you, imagining you in some dreadful trouble, while you’ve probably been out enjoying yourself, drinking, or something!” Sandy hurled, her body quivering with indignation, her soft brown eyes flashing with rage. Who did he think he was anyway, treating her as if she didn’t have a right to even nominal civility? Well, she’d had enough of being treated like a child! She’d show him she wasn’t one, not by a long shot, nor was she the doormat he thought she was, willing to be walked on whenever he felt like it.

“Don’t try your histrionics on me! I’m in no mood to listen to them!” Harry snapped, draining his glass. The strong drink seemed to make him dizzy, and he knew it was because of the several he’d had at Ann Green’s. He shouldn’t have accepted this one, he knew now.

“Well, I am in a mood to try them, and not before time!” Sandy blazed, ignoring the menacing note in her husband’s statement.

“Listen, Sandy, if you don’t shut up-” Harry began threateningly.

Sandy stared at him aghast, disbelief evident in her eyes. Was he actually threatening her? Oh God, that was too much!

“Oh, I hate you. You’ve no consideration for anyone but yourself, you selfish-”

Her invectives were suddenly silenced by the sharp stinging blow she received across her face. reddening her jaw, and making her reel from the pain. Harry had slapped her! …

Harry stared open-mouthed at his vulnerable young wife, unable to believe that he had actually struck her.

“Sandy, honey…” he began lamely, but was aghast to see her back away from him.

“Don’t come near me, you… you animal!” she warned, tears coursing down her face, disgust evident in her eyes.

Her epithet struck a deep, revengeful chord in Harry. Animal, was he? Well, he’d show her, with her prim demure ways. Always treating him as if he was some kind of coarse, vulgar brute. His guilt and newly-aroused anger stifled his reason, and he could only see himself as the hurt, abused one. Maybe … just Maybe … Jeff Green had been right when he had ass-fucked his wife Ann when she had gotten too smart for her own good… Maybe that’s exactly what Sandy needed too… Anyway, by God…

“Come here, you goddamned little bitch!” he snarled, reaching for his petrified wife and pulling her towards him. He could feel her trembling with fear and trepidation, and her terror increased his savagery. He’d teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget for a long time, he fumed inwardly, his brain a dazed drunken ferment of ill-feeling.

Roughly, he ground his mouth down on her helplessly quivering lips and kissed her cruelly, forcing her teeth apart and ramming his tongue far back down her throat. He could hear her gurgling piteously, and she desperately tried to struggle. With strength borne of desperation, she managed to free one hand, and without thinking, reached up and raked his cheek with her nails, gouging three red welts which were rapidly producing beads of blood.

Harry stared at her in disbelief, the pain stinging him into further fury. He couldn’t believe that she had actually scratched him, as if he was a brutish assailant and not her own husband.

“Now, by God…” he raged, his face turning purple, his eyes starting from his head in volcanic fury. His hands began tearing at her thin, wispy blouse, tearing it roughly from her shoulders, and the sight of her firmly rounded breasts, palpitating in their beige bra, goaded him on and he was surprised at the stirrings of lust which were awakening in him. Not that it mattered , he told himself bitterly, Miss Iceberg has never any time for anything like that! …

Distraught with fear, Sandy desperately tried to shield her breasts from his view, with an innate sense if modesty, but her action only enraged him more, and with a coarse oath, he ripped the flimsy bra open, tearing it away harshly from her trembling back.

“No, please don’t!” she pleaded, fearfully cupping her pert little breasts in her palms, her face white and wan. But Harry was not to be restrained, and with bestial callousness, he wrenched her hands away, and closed his mouth over one pink bursting nipple, sinking his teeth painfully into the soft flesh, making little indentations with his teeth.

“Ooooooohhh, stop, Harry, you’re hurting me…” Sandy sobbed, biting her lower lip to offset the dreadful pain in her breast. Still grasping her by the wrists, Harry began to drag away her corduroy miniskirt, flinging it on the floor, leaving her quivering there in her panties and sandals.

“Oh please, Harry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Sandy wailed, futilely trying to cling to her thin, wispy panties. But Harry was too strong, and savagely, he wrenched the brief panties away, exposing the fearfully quivering mound of her golden-thatched vagina. The sight of her lovely naked body incensed Harry beyond control. Spittle was drooling from the corners of his mouth and his eyes were dimmed from his lust and the liquor he had consumed all too readily, recollection of his wife’s cold response on too many occasions came back to his furious brain, and compared themselves fiendishly to the day of incredible sensual pleasure he had just spent with Ann.

With a snarl, he flung his wife down on the floor, and she sprawled against the sofa, hitting her head on the edge, dazed by the hard contact.

“Ooohhh please, Harry,” she began again, turning pleading, tear-filled eyes on her demented husband. But he was oblivious to her terror, and brutally tangling his hands in her soft blonde hair, thrust her face hard against the sofa, almost suffocating her as he squashed her nose and mouth against the roughness of the fabric.

She was cowering on hands and knees, and Harry’s eyes fell abruptly on the lovely curves of her satiny smooth buttocks, the ass-cheeks peach-soft and trembling with trepidation. His eyes remained glued on the enticing area, and he could just see the wetly shimmering pinkness of her pussy beneath the soft, milk-white flesh. Like a man in a daze, his hands reached out and grabbed at the doughy softness of the flaccid mounds, and began to convulsively knead at them, wringing cries of disgust and pain from his tortured wife. Her naked flesh felt buttery and warm beneath his touch as he eagerly spread apart the softly yielding cheeks and exposed the smooth trembling crevice closing protectively around the crinkled brown hole of her now fully exposed little anus. Beneath, the soft pussy flesh trembled visibly and he could see a few wisps of soft golden pubic curls. The flesh on her smooth inner thighs was moist and clammy and Harry knew that fear was making her perspire. But he felt no mercy towards his cringing wife. He felt nothing but a burning desire to avenge himself on her for all the nights of humiliation he had suffered when she had received him so coldly. His feelings were all the more acute for having had the comparison of the magnificent wife of Jeff Green, and his flesh still throbbed at the thought of her incomparable body and how she had used it to give him pleasure and more pleasure. It isn’t fair … why can ‘t I have a wife like that? he muttered childishly to himself as he wrenched his young bride’s soft, fearfully trembling ass-cheeks even further apart.