THIS EXCERPT IS MEANT TO BE READ ONLY BY PERSONS 18 AND OVER. IT CONTAINS MATERIAL SOME MAY FIND OBJECTIONABLE AND/OR OFFENSIVE, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO: STRONG LANGUAGE AND NON-TRADITIONAL SEXUAL SITUATIONS. USE YOUR BEST JUDGMENT BEFORE PROCEEDING.
Copyright © 2014 Neurotica Books LLC., CJ Roberts. All rights reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
By CJ Roberts
The first time she thinks of killing her husband, she’s standing at the sink washing dishes. He cooked dinner tonight – cheesy pasta with shrimp and tomatoes – it was delicious. She scrubs at the hardened cheese in the pot and even with the taste of perfectly seasoned olive oil on her tongue; she can’t stop looking at the knife in the sink waiting to be washed. How many times have I told him to soak the pot as soon as he’s done with it? How many times! But what does he care? He’s not the one who has to clean up after him.
Right at that moment, DAMON places his dirty plate in the sink. “Thanks for doing the dishes baby.” He wraps his arm around his wife and places a chaste kiss against her head. He pulls back when he feels her stiffen. He quickly flips through a mental rolodex of their time together and finds no obvious reason for her to pull away from him. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’m good,” she replies. It’s the same answer every time he asks. She knows it’s what he wants to hear anyway. If he really cared what was wrong, he wouldn’t ask if she were okay. He would know having to ask was confirmation enough that things were not okay. Yes, Damon, I’m wonderful! We haven’t had sex in three weeks, but I’m great. I’m sad, I’m lonely, and my only diversion is scrubbing the fucking cheese out of this pot, but I’m so grateful you cooked dinner. She hunches her shoulder to get distance between them. All she wants is for him to go away. All she wants is for him to remind her why she loves him so much.
He takes a step back and sighs. He’s apparently done something. MAYA only ever has two modes, amorous and vengeful. Since his wife is obviously not amorous, he can assume what comes next. He thinks of the work piling up on his desk in the office. There are never enough damn hours in the day. He looks at his wife and notes the way she refuses to deviate her gaze from the sink. He realizes he forgot to soak the pot. Really? You’re going to let something this petty ruin your night? “Alright babe, I’ve got some work to do tonight, so I’ll be in the office.” He doesn’t kiss or touch her on his way past. He’ll hear about it eventually.
Maya finishes rinsing the pot and sets it to dry. She picks up her husband’s dirty plate next and scrapes at the cheese with her fingernails. Her nose starts to run, she sniffles, and she swallows hard. The side of her body where her husband had stood still tingles. How nice would it have been to lean into that touch? She closes her eyes and sighs contentedly. Her eyes open. She wipes away at the tear tracking down her cheek. That’s all she’ll give him.
It’s late when she decides to go to bed, an hour after Damon. In the dark, she undresses to her thong and climbs into bed slowly. She’s uncomfortably close to the edge of the mattress, but prefers it to the warm press of her husband’s flesh against her own. She feels a pang in her chest. She grips the mattress and squeezes her eyes shut hard enough to see green spots. It doesn’t matter, she can still feel him, and he’s so close, so warm, and so strong. She knows all she has to do to feel his arms around her is nestle close. On nights when her will fails her, she succumbs to her desire for him. While he sleeps, completely unaware of her presence, she lets him hold her. She lets herself be soft and vulnerable. She lets herself pretend he loves her as much as she loves him. The memories of her prior weakness are enough to keep her away from the warmth at her back.
Damon jolts awake and falls asleep just as quickly. A few moments later he jolts again, but this time forces his thoughts to clear. He groans; Maya’s ass is cold against his stomach. What time is it? He needs to calculate how many hours he has left to sleep. It’s a little after midnight. He has seven hours before he has to be up. He wraps his arm around Maya’s waist and pulls her into his body. He knows Maya is asleep because she makes happy little noises and rubs against him. The only evidence of her anger is the shudders and hiccupped breaths that let him know she’s been crying. For Maya, tears equal weakness, and weakness leads to anger very quickly. Seven hours. If we have sex, I can be asleep again in two hours. She always feels better after sex. He acknowledges it’s been a few weeks. He sighs – Maya’s behavior suddenly makes sense. He feels terrible. Poor Maya.
She’s on fire! By the time she opens her eyes, Damon is already pushing her underwear down. She moans; his cock is rubbing between her ass cheeks. Damn him! Maya has no defense for this, she was only just hanging on to begin with. As her head begins to clear away the euphoria of sleep, she has the sense to wonder how long he’s been seducing her while she slept. The thought excites her; she’s so wet and ready. The thought also makes her furious. This is how he gets away with it. He ignores me until I feel worthless, then he fucks me until I forget to be angry. She spreads her legs after he pulls her thong off her feet.
“That’s it, baby. Open for me,” he whispers hotly in her ear. Damon plucks at Maya’s clit with two fingers like he’s playing guitar. He can’t get enough of the way she whimpers and pushes his cock deeper into her crack. He licks his lips as he anticipates the end of foreplay. He wants to get into Maya’s pussy.
Damon’s mouth on her neck is gentle, everything else is rough. She can feel the harsh puff of his hot breath against her neck when he exhales. Her back and thighs burn as she attempts to keep her back arched – so he can push against her – and her leg lifted – so he can finger her clit. She doesn’t want him to stop. She needs his touch too much. “Please!” She strains her legs wider, hoping to entice him to put his fingers, his cock – anything, inside her.
Maya’s arousal is complex. She doesn’t want to want this. A strong hand grips Maya’s thigh and lifts her bottom. Oh! She moans and tilts her hips. Yes! Damon can’t keep treating her like the staff, like she only exists when it suits him. When his cock prods at her opening, she doesn’t let him in right away. If he wants her, he’ll have to take her. She’s tired of feeling weak. She’s less successful at pulling away when he thrusts against her again. She’s too wet to keep the head of his cock from pushing inside. Her insides clench as pleasure bursts across all her nerve-endings at once. “Oh! Please!”
Maya’s imagination is vivid. In her mind, Damon is a faceless stranger who has crept into her room. Plastered against her back with one of his arms beneath her, pressing her close, and his other holding her knee back to open her pussy – she’s helpless. He grunts with pleasure against her ear when he thrusts his cock deeper inside; the sound makes her whimper and writhe against him.
Damon’s cock is pulsing – long, hard contractions that almost feel as good as coming. Maya is so tight and eager. When his balls make contact with her clit, he leaves his hips tilted forward for a few moments so he can savor the sensation. He can’t keep from hissing when Maya’s tiny thrusts squeeze him from root to tip. “Stay still,” he says. He’s thrilled by her obedience, no, not obedience, something…more. It’s the way she gives herself to him so completely. It’s submission.
Maya hears the command in the stranger’s voice and obeys immediately. It’s nice to be told what to do. It’s a relief to give control away, not to think, not to worry, not to be scared of what each word or action means. The stranger tugs at her nipple. The sensation is annoying, but it adds to her fantasy. Her pleasure doesn’t matter. All that matters is making her rapist happy. He doesn’t care about her thoughts. He doesn’t care about her feelings. All he wants is to fuck her pussy. Within that sentiment is another, one that makes Maya’s blood sing – she loves being taken. She loves the idea of a man so overwhelmed with lust for her that he won’t be denied.
Damon is a slave to his lust. He doesn’t know how he forgets this so often. His balls draw up tight when he feels Maya coming on his dick. “Oh…fuck. Baby, are you coming already?” He doesn’t get a verbal response, only whimpers. He has to take several deep breaths to keep his load back. It really has been three weeks.
Post-orgasm, Maya’s fantasy fades. There is no faceless man behind her, no rapist. She used him to disconnect herself from her love for Damon. She doesn’t want to love her husband right now. She doesn’t want to forgive him without his apology - only pathetic people get manipulated – but he’s inside her. Damon’s cock is still inside her, still hard and hot; she wants him out. She’s ashamed she let him in without a fight.
Maya rolls onto her stomach and adopts her husband’s favorite position. Her pussy is sore, but she knows she won’t have to take him much longer. Unlike Damon, she muses, she knows how to give them both what they want. Propped on her forearms, she wiggles her ass for him. In this position, he can see her heavy breasts, her swollen labia, and puckered asshole. “Come on, baby,” she whispers in that way she knows he loves. “Give me all that come.”
He mounts her quickly and thrusts all the way inside in one push. Ohgodohgodohgod! He groans low in his throat and attacks with his hips. In and out he pumps his cock. Beneath him, Maya’s coffee-and-cream colored ass ripples with every thrust. So fucking sexy. “Do you like that, baby? Like that big dick in your pussy?”
“Yes,” Maya pants into the mattress. It’s not a lie. She loves his dick. Sometimes they joke about the stereotype; she likes to say Damon’s dick is the great white hope. Truthfully though, most men, regardless of race, were dreadfully average. Damon would be a prize if he didn’t seem to have the libido of a seventy-year-old man. She sucks in a breath when Damon’s cock punches her g-spot and obliterates her spiteful thoughts.
Damon is too close to his crisis to stop pounding. He hopes Maya comes again, but he can’t guarantee it. He opens her ass cheeks with his palms so he can better see her charms. Mmmm. Goddamn. His thumb circles her asshole. He shuts his eyes to better hear his wife whimper like a puppy, then it’s back to watching his private show. Maya is squirming and he wonders if it’s because she wants his thumb in her ass, or she doesn’t. He presses it inside and comes – both tunnels grip him encouragingly.
When it’s over, Maya lies down on her belly while Damon collects his semen from her with a towel. She doesn’t move afterward, too exhausted to care she only came once. Too heartbroken to admit she has no fight left tonight. When Damon collects her into his arms, she presses into him with force. She had wanted him to finish–to get out of her –but now she knows he was never actually inside her to begin with, not where it matters, not like he used to be.
Maya drifts off to sleep with thoughts of revenge tempting her into darkness.