Tit-Lashing for Bitch-Wife

You get off the bus. You walk down the road. You have just finished work. You are looking forward to having something to eat. You know that your husband will have cooked a meal for you. Chances are it will be something... bland. There are no surprises in life anymore.

You love him. No, you think you still love him but life with him has become predictable, tedious.

Deep down you have become resentful... angry. You punish him by restricting and denying him sex. It hurts you but it hurts him more. You have become spiteful.

He does not know why you punish him and you do not enlighten him - he must work it out for himself. If he can. If he so chooses.

You turn right into the close where you live. The close could be anywhere in the country, anywhere in the world. You recall with bitterness that he wanted to live here. He said it would handy for work. He said it would be close to town. He said it was modern and easy to maintain - a characterless bungalow in a characterless close...

A characterless husband.

A characterless existence.

The sky is overcast and you feel the first drops of rain on your face as you approach your home. You think of the evening ahead of you unfolding, no, enfolding - is that a word? Who cares? - of soaps, mundane chit-chat, surfing the net like flicking aimlessly through the pages of a vacuous glossy magazine, maybe a film and then...bed... naked together in bed... teasing him... so near and yet... so far... him erect... frustrated... clumsily pawing at you... you saying I'm not really in the mood... him sighing and turning over. Later, feeling his erection pushed between the crease of your buttocks... and the only thing that has given you the least bit of gratification since being home is denying him his gratification - sad.

You slot your key into the lock and see his figure move behind the frosted glass. He pulls open the door for you... like a... faithful dog welcoming home its master... you almost expect him to jump up and lick your face... your contempt for him shocks you... almost.

He leans forward to kiss you on the lips... he seeks, desires to French kiss you... but you turn away at the last instance and his kiss merely grazes your cheek...

'What's for dinner?'

'I thought maybe you'd like...'

You watch him about to flounder, and are annoyed that he has not bothered to even prepare a meal...

Pathetic...

Useless.

You remove your coat and hang it on the hook.

'Thought what... exactly... that I wouldn't be hungry after a hard day at work... hmmm?'

'I thought perhaps... I thought perhaps... because it has been a long time... that we could make love... and then go out for a curry after... be a treat... be something... different...'

'Get out of my way... I'll get something out of the freezer and cook it... myself!'

He remains in front of you... blocking you... so you go to move round him... and he extends his arm to the wall...

'I said... get out of my way.'

'No... no, I won't... I want... sex... and I want it... now.'

His un-characteristic directness momentarily takes you out of your stride. But you collect yourself.

'In your dreams. In your fucking dreams buster. And didn't I just say get out of my way.'

There's a blur and a shock to the side of your face. You realise that he has slapped you across your left cheek. You taste something metallic upon your tongue - blood?

'What the—'

He slaps you again and you stumble against the wall. You feel strong, surprisingly strong, fingers grab round your right wrist and pull you into the hallway. You shoot your left arm out and grip hold of the door frame.

'Let go you fucking game playing bitch. I'm going to get what is mine. What I'm legally entitled to. I'm going to fuck you and you can't stop me!'

You feel fear, real fear, but also something else, something... primal.

'Get off... now or I'll call the fucking police!'

'Fucking call them!'

You try to kick him in the shins and as you do he twists you round and whips his arm from around your neck. You attempt to dig your heels into the carpet but it slips and ravels up. Half choking, screaming mutely and struggling he drags you slowly through the bedroom door. You feel his arm move round to your front and brace yourself for a grope of your breasts but instead he rips apart your short sleeved company shirt and you hear the buttons pop off and scatter in all directions.

He throws you down onto the bed before slapping your face without respite for what seems minutes but is in actual fact seconds and stunned you now allow him to remove the shreds of your shirt. He then unclips your bra and pulls it out roughly from under your back.

You can't believe that this is happening to... you.

Suddenly he is pulling your naked arms behind your head and something cold is being snapped around them. The bastard, the fucking bastard has handcuffed you to the headboard.

'I'm going to get you fucking jailed for this. Make the fucking most of it cos it will be the first and last time.'

You hear him snigger. You listen to him grunt. And realise that he is beyond reason, beyond everything.

And so are you.

And so are you.

You look into his eyes, his animal eyes. You have never seen this before in him.

He glares back at you, through you. And then he pulls out his broad leather belt from his jeans. He makes certain you can see him do it and grins evilly.

'You've had this coming for a long time. A long time.'

'No... please don't... I'll do anything... don't hurt me... I'll do anything.'

'Too late... darling... too late.'

You close your eyes and a scorching line of pain travels across your upper stomach and right breasts. You burn and bring your knees up. He lashes you again. And again.

You scream and cry.

Scream and cry.

The waves of pain blur as you are sucked into an ocean of agony as he thrashes your torso with his belt. Your tits and tummy feel as though the flesh is being torn off, flayed.

And then you notice that it is has ceased. There is a lull. You just discern that your trousers and knickers are being tugged off.

You hear yourself say meekly: 'Would you mind stopping because I don't think I can really take much more. Please.'

Now completely naked he rolls you roughly onto your stomach such that your secured arms cross over. Terrified you wait for the heavy leather belt to strike your uncovered and vulnerable buttocks. And it does. He does. Blow after agonising blow.

Blow after agonising blow.

You hate him. You hate him. You hate him.

And now the hate, the anger, the injustice, the pain begin to fade. Begin to become... nothing.

A feeling of freedom, a feeling of liberation begins to suffuse your being. You wonder if you are dying. A clarity, yes, a clarity, manifests itself, takes root in your soul... freedom is freedom from... freedom...

'Thank you... thank you my husband... my husband... fuck me like you have never before.'

You let him penetrate you... yearn for him to rip your cunt apart with his lust... crave for him to spurt his spunk into you... and as you surrender to him a single tear runs down your swollen and hurting cheek, not a tear of sorrow, not a tear of hurt, but a tear of release, liberation, a tear of freedom... true freedom...