The sensation of her face buried in the scrunched pillows on her bed had become an all too familiar feeling for the 36 year old, happliy married, mother of two. With her hands stretched wide out to each side, and her husband's rough, meaty paws pressing down on them heavily on the crisp, freshly washed sheets, the tiny woman was powerless but to lay there, face down, and simply let her husband of 17 years have his way with her.
It was almost as if what was happening to her body was nothing more than a sick and twisted dancestep counting off in her mind. It always happened the same way. After a very brief bit of foreplay, her husband would roughly flip her onto her belly, push her arms up over her head and held them down as he entered her from behind with his cock.
Once his dick was inside of her, she could almost tell from the tortured pace of his breathing just how close he was to finishing his business. With her face pressed into the pillow, her ears were really the only tools she had for judging just when he would relieve himself and like he always did afterwards, fall off to the side like a drunk cowboy dismounting his horse, before drifting off to sleep ,without a word, on his side of the bed.
As soon as his voice started to get a little raspy, it was like clockwork. He would start saying, "You're my little slut....You're my little whore..say it Bitch...You're nothing but a cock hungary slut...aren't you?"
It always seemed odd to her that the same man that expected her to be the model wife, loving mother and maid also wanted her to be nothing more than a trashy, emotionless, sperm dump in bed.
"Yes," She would always answer, with ever increasing roboticness as she moaned through the pillow covering her mouth. "I am your slut Sir...I'm nothing but your little Bitch Slut Sir."
Just like always, as soon as her words of submissive recognition to his authority over her entire body and soul registered in his ears, his breathing would momentarily stop, he would groan in a primal voice that even to this day caused her trepidation.
Then nothing but silence, except for the sound of his thighs smacking hers as he delivered his scalding cum inside her womb for the thousanth time. She would then instictivly bite her lip, trying her best to think about something else other than what was occuring on top of her body at that sickening moment. Then it was over as quickly as it had started. He would simply fall off of her as if he had been shot and take his rest at her side without the first loving word of gratitude to her as she lay naked and motionless beside him.
After all those years, that was unfortunatly the only thing she had grown to associate sex with and frankly, she hated even the mention of the word. Each night after her husband had taken his rightful due from his wife and rolled off of her to go to sleep, she was thankful, both in a real as well as symbolic sense, to have his weight lifted off of her.
That was the intimacy that had slowly developed over almost 2 decades of marriage for Tamara Louise Scroggins. When she would hear her husband Carl's chainsaw like snorning bristle up beside of her, signaling that he was dead to the world, Tammy would quietly lift herself up off the bed and march straight to the privacy of the bathroom to remove the pungeant filth her husband had deposited inside her.
After hauling her tired body back to bed, Tammy would often lay there trying her best not to dwell on her selfish feelings of unfullfillment and discontent. Stewing in her personal Hell, Tammy laid there sometimes for hours on end trying to make some sense of it all as she tried calming herself enough to fall asleep. 6AM comes awful quickly when the mind doesn't shut off long after the body does. Soon enough, the alarm clock beside her bed would be giving off its shrill recognition that a new day was about to begin.
There would be breakfast to fix, there would be kids to wake up and lunches to pack, and there would also be a husband to acknowledge as he departed for another day of earning the brunt of the money that kept the family afloat. Then she would have to gather herself to go to her own part time job, then there would be rushing to get her youngest son to soccer practice and then picking up her oldest son from football practice, the home to fix dinner, then cleaning up, then finally back to bed to start the cycle all over again.
Hiding behind her own closed eyes in the darkness of her bedroom at a quarter to 1 in the morning as sleep slowly washed over her, all Tammy Scroggins could do was put another day in her personal "American Dream" into the books.
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On cue, the loud ringing sound of the alarm clock by her head woke Tammy from a very unsettling sleep at 2 minutes till 6. Tossing her covers aside, the still groggy married woman winced mightily as her numb feet hit the carpet.
Reaching over and shaking Carl by his shoulder in an attempt to start waking him, Tammy had to bite her tongue to keep from cursing his presense the way she often did when she knew he couldn't hear her.
Raising herself up with every ounce of energy in her body, Tammy dragged herself to the bathroom through the still pitch black darkness. Dropping her nightshirt to the floor, Tammy reached over and turned the bathroom light on as she closed the door tight behind her.
"MMMAAHHYUCKK," Tammy groaned as she recoiled from the bright light straining her sensitive eyes.
Turning on the cold water, Tammy eased up to the bathroom sink in a slow and methodical attempt to start waking herself up.
She couldn't even stand to look at herself in the mirror that early in the morning so once her eyes grew comfortable with the illuminance of the light, she would always bend over and roll her flannel panties down her legs. Then she would step out of them akwardly as she reached over to start the shower.
"Gonna break my neck one of these days," She told herself.
As she waited for the water to heat up, she would always fight the urge to peek at her weathered face in the mirror as the steam started rising around her.
With the sizzling moisture beginning to envelope her, Tammy felt slightly more comfortable looking at herself in the mirror, the condensation distorting the actaul image of herself just enough so that she didn't have to see her whole face, aging steadily every morning right in front of her eyes.
Looking into the eyes of the exhausted woman staring back at her, Tammy wretched from the sight of the bags under that woman's eyes. She knew that 10 minutes with her make up bag would be enough to conceal the evidence of her discontent, but still having to face the reality of the daily routine she had created for herself struck her rather hard during those private moments alone every morning.
Once she was in the shower, Tammy knew that she could start recharging her batteries and could take on the dogged routine of the day. As she stood there at the sink brushing her teeth, pondering what was ahead, she couldn't help but shake her head however from just how many things were waiting for her to do.
Spitting out the accumlated frothy toothpaste in her mouth into the sink, Tammy turned and opened the shower curtain, ready to feel the temporary but soothingly luxurious feel of the hot water as it re-invigorated her.
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Closing her eyes, letting the furious flow of water saturate her tired body, Tammy felt her malaise slowly breaking. As her hands brushed up and down her body, trying to rub some feeling back into her old bones, Tammy's nerves started to waken as warm water and soap started coating every nuck and cranny of her body.
In this most private of moments, Tammy simply stood there naked, allowing the water to relentlessly rush down onto her face and chest as if she was standing bare skin in a thunderstorm.
In her self imposed darkness, Tammy savored the feel of the curves of her body with her own hands and thought longingly of just how special it would be if someone else was there to do it for her. Wrapping her arms around herself in a tight, loving embrace, Tammy rocked in place, trying to let the soothing water rinse her worries away.
Feeling her long, drenched, platinum blonde hair stick like soft satin to her shoulders and upper arms, Tammy explorations worked their way up her frame until the heavyness of her 34 C breasts were bouncing loosely against her palms. Now at 36, Tammy still hadn't grown to like her body eventhough it was the envy of many of the ladies she shared a PTA or Sunday church meeting with.
Being the middle daughter of very distant parents, Tammy never got the proper attention that anyone needs to feel valued in life. It was no surprise then that she married a man that purposefully forced her to the background to run the household and rear the kids.
It really hadn't been her idea to get so involved in all the extracurricular activities, but with both sons involved in sports at school and with so many other parents either to lazy or too afraid to chip in and help, Tammy found herself volunteering more and more of her time to her childrens' interests.
After 17 years of marriage, Tammy had also found herself back doing parttime work at one of the local grociery stores. She had been a satisfied housewife for the majority of her marriage but with the children growing and the spector of college looming, along with the hushed reality of her husband's gambling debts, Tammy found it necessary to work about 15 extra hours a week to supplement the family's income.
In a way, Tammy was rather glad to be back out making some cash and meeting the public, besides she always thought her degree from Gulf Coast Community College was just going to waste, and it also gave her an opportunity for a few hours each day to tune out all the other problems in her life and work on her own identity.
As Tammy stood there alone in the shower contemplatimg her lot in life, she suddenly looked down through the steamy haze of the showerstall and realized her nipples had hardened substancially between her tensly squeezing fingers.
"OHH..GOODDD... That feels good," Tammy whispered to herself as she tried rebuffing what her body was begging her to do.
Although she had occasionally masturbated in the past, never to fully enjoyable results because of her guilt, the way things were now, Tammy just didn't have the time nor the privacy to freely explore her sensual side.
Bouncing her heavy tits in her hands, Tammy realized the time was getting away from her and she knew that Carl would be stumbling into the bathroom at any minute. Knowing Carl predication for his wife to be chaste and virtuous excpet for the times he demanded her to be his slut, the last thing she wanted him to catch her doing was pleasing herself in the shower at 6 am.
Deciding discression was the better part of valor, Tammy finished rinsing her hair and cut the shower head off.
Once out of the shower, while blowdrying her hair, Carl finally opened the door and stumbled in to take his own shower, without a single word or grunt to Tammy as she half blocked his path to the bathtub.
