Sean’s face was red, beads of sweat were beginning to form as he yelled at her, his face only inches from hers. The words were just a noise to her now, each anger-filled syllable indistinguishable from the last.
Her eyes where glazed, neck like a piece of rubber. Her head rolled from side to side as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her.
“You fucking stupid bitch! … all that money … I work bloody hard to keep us in this house and for what? You to throw it away at the bingo! How long did you spend on the fuckin’ bandits today? … Well?”
She stared at him, or perhaps more accurately she gazed through him with the thousand yard stare of one whose mind is elsewhere, safe in a place of its own making. That was the moment he snapped, his right hand left her shoulder and paused briefly above and behind him before careering towards the side of her face.
Her head was thrown sideways by the impact of his open palm. She didn’t feel the impact immediately or hear the loud crack that accompanied it. Rather the pain blossomed as a slowly intensifying glow in her cheek. The slap brought her back to her senses, and with the awakening came a welling of tears that grew into a salty stream trickling down her face.
Sean let go of Shelley. She slumped onto the sofa, body shuddering in silent sobs.
He was talking again, more softly now, apologies, promises never to hit her again, contrition, self-loathing, resetting the timer. The timer that would tick-tick-tick until the next time. The time when the tension inside him was so untameable that he’d hurt her again.
Later, in bed, listening to Sean vomiting loudly in the bathroom, she reflect on the day, an icepack pressed against her throbbing cheek. Not a bad day, she had got away without a beating for almost a month now. And now she had a week’s grace, or maybe more, until he felt bold enough to challenge her again.
It had been a good day on balance. Bingo had been fun, a bit of money on the slots, couple of games, then a wink to Paul before slipping off into the manager’s office.
The office used to be a dressing room for the stars that frequented the building when it had been a theatre. It was the star’s room too, relatively large, with a tiled shower and lavatory in the small room leading off it.
She had waited outside the door, straightening her clothes. It struck her as odd that she should do that, after all Paul was not interested in her appearance, just her money. Even the manager of a provincial bingo hall doesn’t earn that much, so her custom was welcome. He was in his early twenties, ten years or so her junior, but he liked her body. She had looked after herself and had a beauty that would stay with her despite what the years, or Sean, could throw at her. He would probably have fucked her for free if it weren’t for her very specific needs.
Paul locked the door and held out his hand. She placed a bundle of notes into it, which he then stuffed in his inside jacket pocket.
He undressed, carefully hanging up his clothes on the hooks and hangers waiting on the wall. When he was undressed she grabbed his semi-erect penis and pulled him close to her. “you can undress me and fuck me now little boy.
He obliged, taking the same care with her clothes as he had done with his, leaving only her black leather stiletto healed boots in place.
Shelley sat on a chair, legs spread. “Lick me.” She ordered with a callousness that made his flesh creep. But he knelt and did just that, probing her clitoris and outer lips with his tongue, her hands pressing him into her mons, threatening to suffocate him.
She smiled as he squirmed struggling to breath until she felt suitably relaxed.
“Get in there.” She snapped, and he knew where.
He lay naked on the cold hard tiles, cock erect and ready for her. He looked on Shelley as a necessary evil, but strangely was actually beginning to enjoy her visits. She was sexually alive, forceful, and very, very dirty minded. Filthy minded. He chuckled to himself. If his girlfriend ever found out what he got up to …
Shelley lowered her swollen lips onto his cock and guided his cock into her wet cunt. Then she squatted above him, muscles grasping his member. Her face leered down at him, watching as she coaxed him to orgasm. This young innocent little boy, just like Sean was on their honeymoon. Sad that he still acted like a child, maybe that’s why she hated him so much, not the violence.
Paul’s face was beginning to contort into an unmistakeable pre-orgasmic mask. She bounced as hard as she could forcing her pussy as hard as possible onto his cock. He grunted squirting his seed into her, two, three, four powerful contractions filling her with his semen.
She stood up, still astride him and watched him relax. His eyes were closed.
Then he felt it, the hot and wet, cascading down on his belly, then as she shuffled forward, up his chest and eventually onto his neck, face and hair. He clamped his mouth shut and waited for the golden shower to subside.
And waited, and waited, for her final act, the one that she enjoyed the most. A glob of semen slowly slid out of her vagina and landed, plop, on his lips.
“Same time next week you little shit?” She asked.
“Mmmm – mmm”, He responded, not wanting to open his mouth.
Shelley got dressed to the sound of Paul cleaning himself and the shower room. With the spring firmly reinstalled in her step she made her way home.
A few days later and the bruise on her face had subsided just enough to allow her to cover it with the heavy foundation she always kept for these occasions.
Shelley and Sean watched their three children playing in the garden on the new slide Sean had bought them. A new chain sparkled around Shelley’s neck. And a new icy dagger had pierced her pincushion heart.
Sean munched his toast before setting off for work. His face was looking a little puffy these days and he had only just got over an apparently interminable cold. He clenched and flexed his fist.
“Pins and needles again?”, Shelley asked.
“Yeah, it’s getting worse.” He smiled weakly.
“You ought to see a doctor.”
“I’ll be fine, right I’m off to work.” Sean got up, kissed Shelley on the forehead and left for the day.
Their eldest daughter ran in and made herself some toast while Shelley finished her coffee. Shelley glanced across as the eight year old stuck her knife into the jar of marmalade on counter top.
“No!, Not daddy’s marmalade”
Her daughter looked shocked at the sudden outburst, tears filled her eyes. Shelley hugged her, “It’s alright, alright, Daddy’s special marmalade is just for him, remember that.”
Shelley looked the nearly empty jar and at the yew tree at the end of the garden. Time to make up some more of Sean’s special marmalade when the kids were at school.