Robert Vickers - Her lover son

As she reached up to snare the stray blob with a finger, a voice boomed, "Goddamn! What the fuckin' hell's going on here?"

Joleen cast a frightened look to the doorway. Standing there, suitcase in hand, was Harold.

Her husband had come home three days early.

"Of all the Goddamn things I've ever seen! I come home early to be with my wife and find her with some Goddamn man squatting on her belly and fucking her!"

Willie didn't seem to be overly upset. He calmly slipped off of Joleen and said, his voice controlled and even, "I guess you're Joleen's husband. I wondered what a grade-A prick would look like. Seeing you, I know everything Joleen's said is the gospel truth."

Harold dropped his suitcase and took a swing at Willie.

The naked man danced back, and the blow missed him by scant inches. He taunted Harold, "Come off it, man! You're not going to do anything just because your wife and I've been having a little fun. Don't get yourself hurt, man. You could get a hernia straining like that!"

Harold stepped back, and Joleen could see him working himself into a rage. He'd been in the Air Force and knew all sorts of unarmed combat.

Joleen cried out to Willie, "Better get out of here! He knows judo and all kinds of stuff like that!"

Willie laughed harshly. "Aw, man, you can do better. But this might be the only exercise you get. You certainly don't strain yourself in bed fucking. Unless it's with those sexy little stewardesses, eh?"

Harold launched a straight punch at Willie's neck. The man moved and seemed to pat Harold's clenched fist. The blow missed its target by a considerable distance. Willie slapped Harold. Not hard, but enough to show that he could do anything he wanted to the man.

Harold didn't take the hint. He launched a kick at Willie's stomach. Willie casually grabbed the foot and twisted. Harold sailed through the air and landed in a pile against the wall.

As he was standing up, Willie kicked out. The ball of his foot connected with Harold's stomach. A dull whoosh signaled the air gushing out of the man's lungs. As Harold doubled up, Willie brought his knee up into Harold's face.

There was a dull crunch as cartilage broke. Harold collapsed to the floor with a broken and bleeding nose.

"Man, I told you not to hassle me. That hand-to-hand combat jazz just doesn't make it, you know? Try living out on the street, and you'll learn to fight for keeps." Willie's voice was harsh and biting. It told the beaten man that if he tried anything further, one of them would never get up again.

And Willie had just shown how inept Harold was at fighting.

Harold pulled himself erect, holding his bleeding nose. "Okay, okay." He stumbled to the dresser for support.

Joleen cried out, "A gun! Willie! There's a gun in the drawer!"

It was too late. Harold had opened the top drawer and yanked out a.38 snub-nosed revolver. He had it pointed at Willie. And instantly saw that Willie had a 9mm Browning automatic cocked and aimed at him.

"Don't try it, Harold. I know I'm a damn sight better shot than you are. And I've got fourteen tries to pump your miserable body full of holes. That popgun of yours doesn't even scare me."

Joleen felt like laughing. The scene before her was funny in spite of being so deadly grim. Harlold had his bloody nose and a toy of a gun aimed at Willie. Willie was still naked but had the businesslike automatic aimed at Harold.

They held the pose for a moment, then Harold snarled, "Get the hell out of here, you filthy…"

Willie snapped, "Watch your tongue! I'm leaving."

He gathered his pants and shirt, slipping into his shoes as he picked the other things up. All the time, his gun never wavered from its target on Harold's chest.

Willie backed out of the room and called, "I'll see you later, doll!"

With that, he vanished down the hallway. The sound of the front door slamming punctuated his departure.

Harold turned angrily to Joleen. "Who the fucking hell was that scum? And what were you doing with him?"

Joleen settled back on the bed. "Put that gun away, Harold. It doesn't scare me any more than it did Willie." She was really frightened of the man waving the gun around since she knew he was a lousy shot and very mad. He might just pull the trigger and never know it until it was too late.

Harold tossed the gun aside.

"Thanks. I guess it's pretty obvious what we were doing. How was your trip?"

Harold's face turned an ugly red with anger. He reached out and backhanded Joleen across the face. A red handprint was left on her cheek.

"Goddamn slut! 'How was my trip?' you say. Just like that. Just like you hadn't been cheating on me!"

Joleen held her cheek. She'd never seen Harold this mad and didn't know what he would do or what he was capable of doing. She decided she had better try to calm him down, or he might do something she wouldn't like at all.

"Ah, look, Harold. You're gone so long. Look at it from my point of…"

Harold smashed his hand into her face again. This time he didn't bother to do it flat-handed. He punched her with his fist.

"Whore! Bitch! Scumbag! You're such a slut you sicken me!"

He began to slap her repeatedly. Joleen fell back on the bed and tried to protect herself as best she could. In a few minutes, the rain of blows stopped. Joleen remained curled up on the bed, shaking and sobbing. Tears ran down her face and dampened the bedspread.

How could life be so cruel to her? Why did Harold have to come back from his Goddamn trip three days early?

She thought the man had left her alone. Joleen couldn't have been more wrong.

Harold had gone into the bathroom to stop the flow of blood from his broken nose. He came back into the bedroom with his nose plugged with cotton and a strip of adhesive tape over the bridge.

He silently went to the closet and took out a handful of his neckties. Still without speaking, he went to where Joleen lay cowering on the bed. A mighty slap on the side of her head made her gasp and reach out to stop a second blow.

Harold tapped her hand and quickly looped the tie around her wrist. He knotted the silk and yanked hard on it. When Joleen's arm straightened, Harold fastened the tie to the head of the bed, using a knot that couldn't easily be undone.

"Wh-what are you doing, Harold?"

"Shut up, you disgusting pig! You make me sick!"

Harold slapped her again. When Joleen touched the bruised cheek, Harold took her slender wrist and rapidly tied another of his neckties around it.

He dragged her out so that he could fasten the tie to the other side of the headboard. Joleen tried to kick him. This only played into his hands.

He grabbed one flailing foot and soon had it fastened securely at one end of the bed. It was child's play to capture the other foot and tie it the same way.

Joleen was fled spreadeagle to the bed. Naked and exposed, her face bruised and one eye beginning to blacken from where her husband had punched her, she was a sorry sight.

Harold looked at her without the slightest trace of pity in his harsh black eyes.

"Why are you d-doing this t-to me? Why?" Joleen pleaded, knowing her words were falling on deaf ears.

Harold sneered but didn't answer. He removed the broad leather belt from his waist and doubled the strap. He slapped it against his palm serveral times to test the feel of its impact.

When Joleen saw what Harold intended to do to her, she began to scream as loudly as she could.

As quick as a flash, Harold was next to her, stuffing his handkerchief into his wife's mouth. He took another of his neckties and fastened the silk band around Joleen's head to keep the gag in place.

"Now, slut. Scream all you want. And I hope you choke to death after what you've done to me!"

Harold raised his arm, and the broad belt slapped across Joleen's tensed stomach with a dull whack!