Heather Brown: Mom_s boy hunger

He slapped me. "Bitch!" he blustered. "Stop holding back! Kiss my cock!"

I knew I had to comply in order to insure my safety-but I just couldn't get myself together enough to do it. My lips seemed to be turning inward, defensively tucking themselves between my teeth to avoid this horrible task.

He slapped me again. This time it was much harder. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

Another slap, and I toppled from the force. Now I was lying on the floor, and Ted was kicking me. "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!" he screamed the same ugly word over and over again.

I looked up at him. Rather than being twisted by an angry snarl, his face was beaming. The son of a bitch was smiling. He obviously enjoyed seeing me helpless and in pain.

"I don't need you to kiss my cock any more," he boasted.

I looked down from his face. Sure enough his prick was hard. Cutting through the air like the blade of a dagger.

"Now you're gonna have to suck it," he declared. "I'm gonna fuck your mouth.. No, rape it!"

He fell on me. Because he was drunk and his muscles were relaxed, it was like a ton of bricks.

His cock squirmed around on my face like a snake. Then it slithered into my mouth.

It began pumping. The head struck into the maw of my throat.

I couldn't breathe. I was choking. Strangling on prick. Gagging.

Needless to say, my discomfort was a real turn-on to my sadistic husband. The more I struggled, the harder he rammed his tool down me. His cock had never seemed so big.

The whole time he was fucking my mouth, Ted kept calling me vile names. "Bitch! Cunt! Whore! Slut!" he hissed. "You're getting just what you deserve!"

I was beginning to wonder if he was right. Could a husband commit such an atrocity against his wife if she hadn't been asking for it?

I had been complaining to myself for years about Ted's lack of skill in bed. But I had never stopped to consider how he must have been evaluating me. It was certainly within the realm of possibility that he was just as frustrated as I had been for so long.

I had chosen to compensate for our unsatisfactory sex life by having affairs. Who was to say that Ted was any more off-base by attempting to compensate by brutalizing me, especially if I was the source of his dissatisfaction?

He probably felt I had degraded him-diminished his masculinity-by not giving him more pleasure in bed. Now he was getting even. Punishing me through the vehicle of sadism.

It was so brutal, so savage, as he rammed his bludgeoning cock down my throat to the hilt. However, it was clear from the excited way in which he acted that he was deriving more satisfaction from this monstrous act than he would have from a hundred normal nights of lovemaking.

When he came, it was more like hot lead was pouring down my gullet than sperm. My stomach contracted with stark pain from the scalding onslaught.

My only hope was that drunk, middle-aged, and in dubious physical condition, Ted would be all used up after one ejaculation. After all, under ordinary circumstances, the poor loser could hardly get it up even once.

Not so. These were no ordinary circumstances. When he extracted his cock from my mouth, it was harder than ever. Punishing me had restored his potency to the level of a teenager.

"Wha-what are you going to d-do to me, now?" I stammeringly inquired.

He just laughed. He sounded like the arch-fiend in some 1950's horror movie. Vincent Price with a hard-on.

Why had I even wasted the breath to ask? Of course he was going to rape me. My own husband was going to rape me.

He started by ripping my clothing away. The fabric dissolved in his grip like wet tissue paper. I was nude within seconds.

Clasping his hands over my knee-caps, he violently pried my legs open. My pussy was gaping. My nostrils flared from the stench of fear which emanated from it.

"Well, well," Ted chortled, "looks like we're not as turned-off as we'd like to pretend to be."

What in the world could he mean?

"Your cunt is soaking wet."

No, no, it couldn't be. If it was, I must have uncontrollably urinated during my ordeal.

Ted poked a finger between my thighs and ran it up and down the cleavage of my labia. Then, extracting it, he thrust it under my nose.

"Smell it!" he commanded.

I held my breath, afraid, I guess, of what the scent might reveal.

"Then taste it!" he bristled, and shoved the soggy finger between my lips.

I tried not to recognize the tell-tale taste, but it was no use. There was no denying the flavor of my own pussy juice. My cunt wasn't dripping with piss, but with involuntary arousal.

"You want me to treat you rough, don't you, bitch?" Ted played the macho role to the hilt.

I couldn't bring myself to admit any such thing. True, my pussy was marinated in its own juice, but fear can do funny things to you. I just would not admit that being brutalized turned.me on.

"Don't come clean with yourself, then," Ted laughed derisively. "It'll just give me more of an excuse to knock you around. I'll beat you up so bad that you'll wind up begging for more."

This clinched it for me. No matter what I felt inside, I would never reveal any emotion to my sadistic husband other than loathing. He could rape me all night, I didn't care. My pussy might cream, but the rest of me would be hating him.

"Go ahead and fuck me if it'll make you feel like more of a man!" I bitingly issued a woman's most profound dare. "Lord knows, nothing else has made you behave like one."

This wasn't what he had expected. He reacted by spitting in my face. Then, he punched me with his fists about the head and shoulders. Eventually his knuckles crashed into my tits, causing so much pain that I was on the verge of vomiting before he stopped.

"I've kept you waiting long enough," he cruelly chuckled. "Enough foreplay.. Time for the main event." Clutching his stiff prick like a spear, he directed it between my gaping thighs. The lips of my pussy trembled, as his phallic crown drew nearer and nearer.

The first touch was like being branded by a red-hot poker. I couldn't recall my husband's cock ever having been so inflamed with desire.

He stuck it in as though he were skewering me. Not just the head, but the whole organ. Every inch penetrated in the same savage thrust. He had never fucked me like this before, and the act was just beginning.

Then his hips started to roll, his ass started to move. His pelvis became like an engine, powering surge after surge to my furthest depths. I could feel his cock all the way to my teeth.

"Lift your legs, bitch!" he ordered. And when I didn't, he did it far me.

Grabbing my calves, he lifted my limbs aver my head, not stopping until my Thighs were touching my shoulders. My cunt opened so wide that he could practically force his balls inside me. His prick felt as though it were at least a foot and a half long.

He wasn't through yet, though. Lowering his head to my chest, he turned his teeth loose on my breasts. Suddenly my breasts were being mangled, with special emphasis on my nipples. Those delicate buds were chewed raw. Finally, fresh blood was streaming down the front of my torso.

How long would this go on? How long would I have to endure this before he came? I was being butchered.

I decided to challenge him. After all, at this point I had nothing to lose, having been thoroughly degraded. I would see how he responded if I figuratively spit in his eye.

"Can't you come?" I made an end-run around his violence and questioned the capacity of his loins. "You haven't done it twice in a night since you were in your twenties, stud."

"I'm warning you, Betty," he seethed, "don't push me."

"Why not?" My confidence grew in the face of his defensive reaction. "You're the one doing the raping. The biggest joke of all is an impotent rapist."