Robert Vickers: Mom on the make

"Goddammit, you fuckin' slut, what d'ya mean sayin' somethin' like that to your husband?" Lee slurred.

Joanne King could barely tolerate the hundred horsepower breath gusting into her face. Her husband had really gone on a binge this time. He was drunker than she could ever remember seeing him. She didn't much like it – and had told him so.

"Please, Lee, don't cause a scene."

"Scene?! You stinking cunt! I'll do any damn thing I damn well please and you're not gonna say a fuckin' word about it!"

Before Joanne could open her lips to speak, Lee backhanded her as hard as he could. The slim, petite woman was almost lifted from her feet and thrown against the wall. Weakly, she felt her crushed lips, the trickle of the red, red blood dribbling down her chin.

"Why did you do that, Lee? Why?" she asked. "Teach you not to give me no more lip, that's why!"

Joanne's knees had turned to rubber. She felt her guts chum and go weak and watery. This was it. She had had it with Lee and his weekly drunks when she had married him almost twenty years ago, he had been a nice, easygoing sort of guy. But the pressures of getting a job, then hanging onto it, had preyed on him. He wasn't the smartest or most talented man in the world, but Joanne had loved him.

The pressures had simply been too much, and he had turned to booze for his comfort.

Joanne had tried to do what she could do to cure him of his dependence on liquor, but it seemed that the more she meddled, the worse Lee got. Finally, Joanne had resigned herself to the fact that Lee probably was better off going on his binges.

The past month had been pure hell for her, though. Lee had gotten totally blasted out of his head every night and had grown more and more callous toward her. Joanne couldn't understand it. All that mattered was the change.

Lee was treating her like a slave instead of his wife and mother of their two children. Joanne knew that Lee had already driven their son, Eddie, away for good. The constant fights, the loud shouting matches that solved nothing, had been too, much for Eddie. He was in the process of moving out of the King house and finding a place of his own. But that would have happened anyway, Joanne told herself. Eddie was a big boy. Eighteen in less than a month and time for him to be out on his own.

"Yer makin' me sick, showing off your drooping boobs like that. Ya ain't got any shame left, do you? Yer nothin' but a cheap whore now screwin' every stud in this Goddamn neighborhood!"

Joanne looked at her husband in surprise. She was as faithful as a wife could be. Sure, she had looked around at some of the men in the neighborhood, but she was a good wife. Faithful to her marriage vows.

"What the hell are you talking about, Lee? I don't understand what you mean."

"Don't lie to me, you fuckin' bitch!" Lee snarled. "I know you been going around the place selling your body to any man who can get five bucks together." His blurry eyes drank in the vision of his wife's beauty. It was incredible that a thirty-five-year-old woman could be so youthful in body and face.

Her figure was something most models would have sneered at – Joanne King was too full-bodied. She wasn't the scrawny, emaciated-looking model. That 37-24-36 would never have made the covers of any of the high-fashion magazines.

It did turn the heads of most of the men she passed on the street. They appreciated the trim lines, the taut, firm tits that jutted proudly in front of her body, swaying the barest amount as she walked. Her trim waist flared out seductively to womanly hips and a round, tight ass that wiggled and swung as she strolled along.

Joanne didn't consciously wiggle her ass for any passing male to ogle. It was just a part of her that she couldn't control. Could she really control the symmetric beauty of her face, the finely boned structure or the lustrous blonde hair? That was as much out of Joanne's power to alter as the rolling, seductive motion of her butt, that could give the coldest of men a raging hard-on.

The woman stared down at her creamy white body. She was dressed in a nightgown, filmy and bluely transparent. It did nothing to hide the ruddy nipples cresting her boobs or the darker triangle of the muff nestled between her thighs.

Joanne was a sexy woman. She wasn't responsible for what nature had done to her – and this was the first time Lee had ever seemed to complain about it. His name-calling and derogatory statements further confused her. Joanne tried to pull the flimsy nightgown closer around her voluptuous, youthful-appearing body in an unconscious move.

"Damn you!" Lee cried, crossing the room to where his wife cowered by the kitchen wall. "You sell your body to any two-bit stud and now yer tryin' to keep me from fucking you! WHORE!"

Lee brutally grabbed Joanne's shoulders and shook her. Joanne's brushed hair became disarrayed and fluttered around her face like a cobweb of platinum strands. When Lee heard Joanne's teeth click together from the powerful shaking, he stopped.

"You'll put out for the likes of Fontaine but ya won't fer me, huh?" Lee's eyes had become bright, glowing with an insane lust and hatred that frightened Joanne.

"Fontaine? That dirty creep? I hate that man, and you damn well know it!" Joanne protested.

"LIAR!" Lee backhanded his wife one more time. Before she could wipe away the fresh rivulet of blood, Lee seized her hands. His powerful fist clamped tightly around both of his wife's slender, almost fragile wrists. Joanne was incapable of freeing herself from his grip.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget!" Lee declared, a knife-edge of evil intent cutting through the fear rampaging in Joanne's brain.

She gasped as Lee lifted her and dumped her over the back of one of the kitchen chain. It was a straight-backed wooden chair. The splintery crosspiece mercilessly gouged into Joanne's tender, smooth-skinned belly. The woman tried to straighten up and escape the degrading posture of having her ass protruding into the air, but Lee's mighty muscles began to force her more and more into the back of the chair.

Joanne's breath gusted from her lungs.

Momentarily out of breath, she was totally at the mercy of her berserk, enraged and lustful husband. He had never done something like this before; the terrified woman didn't know what to expect from him. Lee might be content with only beating her.

But Joanne King felt deep down in her gut that Lee wouldn't be content with just a felt bruises. He had something else in mind. And it wouldn't be pleasant for the woman. Not at all.

Joanne weakly struggled to regain the wind that had been knocked out of her. She found that Lee had tied her legs to the wooden legs of the chair with twine he had found in the nearby drawer. The coarse brown string was rough and cruelly cut into her tender anides. The agony of the bindings flooded up her legs.

Her slender calves seemed to fill with red-hot pain. Creeping upward with the inevitable power of the ocean's tide, the pain seated into her thighs, those marvelous, white and tender thighs that had so delighted Lee – and her – previously.

Lee wasn't finished with his job of tying her up, however. He was only beginning.

"So, slut, you're beginning to see what I can really do to you, huh? Just wait!"

With those ominous words, Lee savagely pulled the loops of twine tight around Joanne's wrists. With her hands bound behind her back, she lost the advantage of leverage. Joanne was doubled over the back of the chair now, her legs tightly tied down, her hands bound behind her back.

When she tried to twist and fall over onto the floor, Lee landed a stunning blow to the side of her head. "Don't get me mad, whore, or you'll really regret it!" Lee grabbed a handful of his wife's long, blonde hair and yanked her head back to stare into her grey eyes. He gawked wildly when he saw the pure, undiluted fear that flooded out.