Sex for Money Rent & Food

Chapter 11

Home sweet home, safe at last, June has an unexpected visitor.

June opened her front door to her husband waiting there for her. With his eyes bulging and his face red, he was hopping mad. She hasn't seen him this mad since he lost his job and blamed everyone, the Democrats, the Republicans, the Chinese, and his mother for not forcing him to stay in school to get a college education.

"Where were you?" John looked at her with a face full of rage. "Do you know what time it is? Look at the time," he said holding up his wristwatch to her face while tapping the crystal with his index finger. "It's after midnight. Who were you with and where'd you go? Where were you?"

"None of your business," she said walking away from her to grab the keys to his truck.

"Where you going now?"

"I have to get the kids from Sally."

"I picked them up hours ago. They're upstairs sleeping," he said looking at her as if he hated her. "Some mother you are," he said making a sour face. "It's after midnight. You've been gone for hours. I know because I got here a little after eight o'clock and you weren't here. No one was here. So I called Sally and she said you went out but she wouldn't tell me where."

"I'm a better mother than you ever were a father to those kids," she said looking at him with as much hate as he had for her. "Some father you are fucking my mother, not working, not even looking for a job, and getting drunk every day. How long have you been fucking my mother? How long has she been sucking your cock?"

"Don't you be asking me questions before you answer mine. Answer my questions. Who were you with, where were you, and what were you doing?"

"I'll answer your questions after you answer my questions, John. How's that?" If her look could kill, he'd be dead. "While I was gone, did you fuck my old, bitch of a fat mother today again? Did you suck her big, saggy breasts? Did your dirty fingers finger her smelly pussy? Did you lick her cunt with your alcohol laced breath? Did you bend my mother over and fuck her like the animals you both are? Did you push her down to her knees for her to blow you and for you to cum in her mouth?"

"I'm not answering any of your stupid questions," he said walking away from her but she followed him and stayed in his face.

"Tell me, John, tell me. While I was gone and you were alone, did my mother suck your little cock? Did she blow you? Did you put your hand to the back of my mother's head and cum in her mouth or weren't you able to get up an erection again? Answer me this, John, are you happier with my old mother instead of her young daughter?" She looked at him waiting for him to answer her questions but he ignored her.

"I'm done with all of that monkey business. I haven't seen your mother since you caught us together and threw us out of the house," he said with defiance.

"You're drunk now, aren't you, you drunk? Did you drive to Sally's house drunk to pick up my children, you sack of drunken shit? I can tell by how you parked your truck that you drove drunk," she said hoping he drive away drunk so that she could call the police on him. "Isn't one DUI isn't enough for you? Get another one and they'll suspend your license again or throw your ass in jail again should you injure or kill someone."

She was glad that her mother wasn't there. She was glad she didn't walk in on them again fucking and sucking. She would have really lost it had her mother been there having sex with her husband. She wondered how long it's been going on and how many times they had sex. Yet, none of that mattered now. She just wanted him out of her house and them out of her life for good.

Even though she tried not to care, she was still hurt by him cheating on her, especially with her mother, of all people. If he cheated with anyone else, a co-worker, a neighbor, or one of her friends, she may have forgiven him but she'd never forgive him after he cheated on her with her mother. As if cheating with her mother was his way to get back at her for some unknown reason, it worked. The vision of the both of them drunk, naked, and in bed together washed across her mind as if she was having a bad nightmare while still awake.

"Fuck you, bitch. Where've you been?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"None of your fucking business. You're not my husband anymore. Your just some unemployed, drunken loser, who'd rather have incestuous sex with his mother-in-law than having a normal, sexual relationship with his wife."

"Maybe if you gave me more support, I wouldn't drink?"

"Give you more support? I did everything for you, John, but wipe your ass. All you had to do was to fall out of bed and go to work. All you had to do was to bring home a paycheck to save us from foreclosure. All you had to do was to stop drinking. You washed your hands of everything else, me, the kids, and the house because you're supposedly working too hard all day, so hard that your company discovered they could do without your lazy ass and shit canned you."

"Maybe if you gave me sex, I wouldn't have to have sex with your mother. She cares about me more than you do."

"Maybe if you had stopped drinking long enough to maintain an erection, we would have had more sex but you'd rather drink than fuck," she said.

He looked at her as if he had just noticed how she was dressed. Her skirt was so short, too short and short enough that she'd flash her panties if she sat. He'd never allow her out of the house wearing a skirt so short. Her blouse was half unbuttoned and her cleavage and bra were showing. Again, as if she was his teenage daughter instead of his wife, he'd never allow her to go anywhere looking like that, especially with all the makeup she was wearing.

"Where did you go dressed like that? You're dressed like a whore? Where's you get those clothes? I don't remember you having those clothes. You never wore those clothes for me. You never dressed like that for me. Look at her, just look at you," he said flicking a finger at her low cut and partially unbuttoned blouse.

"Saving them for your sorry ass, all these clothes are clothes that I had for years and that I had hidden in the back of my closet. Maybe if you took me out somewhere without me having to beg you to take me to a movie or hound you to come shopping with me, I would have dressed sexy for you. Only, you'd rather drink with the boys at the bar than to take me out for a drink or for a nice dinner. Being that you'd rather be with men than with your woman, maybe you're gay," she said with a victorious smile.

"Fuck you. I'm not gay," he said changing the subject. "I saw a car. Did someone give you a ride home? Who was he? Was it a man? Was he one of your Johns? What were you doing at this hour? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to us?"

"Why am I doing this? Why am I earning money? Because you won't get a job. Because you won't bring home some money. Because all you do all day is drink, play video games, and fuck my mother, I have to do what I need to do to make a living to keep this house and to feed and clothe our kids." She looked at him with hatred instead of love and non-caring instead of understanding.

"Is that what you call making a living by sucking and fucking men? Is that what you call making a living by selling sex for money? Is that what you call making a living by disgracing yourself? I know what you're doing," he said pointing a shaky finger of accusation at her. "You're fucking and sucking men, aren't you? You call it making a living, I call it sucking men's cocks for money. I call you a prostitute, a hooker, and a whore. You fucking whore." He stepped closer to her.

"Back the fuck off, John. I mean it or I'll coldcock you one," she shoved him back with a stiff arm. "Get the fuck away from me. You stink. When did you shower last, you drunk?"

He stepped closer as he asked more questions.

"Did you blow them, whore? How many cocks have you sucked. Did they gangbang you? Did you let them cum in your pretty little mouth? Did you talk dirty to them in the way you used to talk dirty to me? Look at all this shit? What is all this shit? What's with all the lipstick, June? Lipstick on the dipstick, is that it?" He grabbed her face in his hand, squeezed her lips together, and smudged her lipstick all over her face with his palm until she pushed him away.

"Don't touch me!" She shoved him away again and he stepped forward again.

"Did you fuck them, whore? Did they cum in your pussy?" He reached his hand beneath her short skirt and cupped her panty clad pussy in his hand and squeezed. "How much did you make tonight fucking and sucking men?"

"Get the fuck away from me," she said swinging a hard, fast fist at his forearm to break his hold of her cunt. "Yeah, I'd rather be a fucking whore and have men cum in my mouth and in my pussy than to be with an unemployed drunk who refuses to provide for his wife and kids and who fucks his mother-in-law. Why don't you just leave? Go! Get out! Leave! I don't want you anymore. This marriage is so over. We're done. We're through."

"This is my house too," he said. "I don't have any other place to go but here," he said looking at her with sadness.

"Why don't you just go home to your own mother and fuck her instead of my mother. Or have you already fucked your mother which is why your fucking my mother now. Is that it, John? Are you a motherfucker? Not only are you a cunt but also you're a motherfucker, motherfucker."

"How dare you talk to me like that, bitch!"

"Motherfucker," she said spitting out the word as if spitting at him.

He ran to her and slapped her hard across the face, so hard that she fell back and hit the back of her head on the coffee table as she fell. As if a struggling beetle that has fallen on its back, once she was helplessly and defensively on her back and on the carpeted floor, too dazed and disoriented to get back up, as if he was a rapist and he was, he was all over her tearing off her clothes.

"You fucking whore," he yelled slapping her across her face again. "You fucking whore," he yelled ripping open her blouse and exposing her bra. "You fucking whore," he yelled pulling down and off her skirt. "You dirty cunt," he said tearing off her blouse until she was on the floor beneath him in just her bra and bikini panty.

She struggled against the weight of him, but he was too big and too strong and she was too weak from hitting her head and from him slapping her. When he reached for her bra, they struggled, but he managed to unsnap it to expose her breasts. He squeezed her breasts as hard as he could with both hands, hard enough to make her scream in pain and to bring tears to her eyes.

"Get off of me! Let go over me! Take your fucking hands off of me, you filthy pig!"

"You fucking whore," he said slapping her everywhere, her face, her breasts, her stomach, and her thighs.

Slapping and slapping her as if slapping his frustration with being unemployed and separated from the only thing that gave him an identity and a reason to live, he took all his frustration out on the only person he once truly loved. He reached down and, in one fluid motion, tore off her panty. Now naked and with the weight of him still on her, he undid his pants, pushed his pants and underwear down to his knees, spread her legs with his knees, and mounted her. He started dry humping her before he licked his fingers and was able to part her lips open enough with his fingers to fuck her. When she resisted, he started choking her. When he couldn't get an erection, he banged her head on the carpet in frustration. When she fought back, he choked her harder.

"I'll kill you, you fucking bitch. I fucking kill you, you whore. Die, cunt, die."

June tried pushing against him, but he was too strong, too enraged, and too crazy. She was never so afraid for her life as she was now. He was determined to kill her. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do to save herself.

With her life flashing before her eyes, she saw happier times with him. She thought of when they first met, when they were married, and being so happy to buy a house and start a family. She thought of her children. Only, starting to blackout, as if a flower prematurely dying before it fully bloomed, losing consciousness, she was fading.

With him chocking her and with him tightening his grip around her neck, unable to swallow, she couldn't breathe. Using the last bit of energy she had before she was gone, she kicked and flailed her body but all to no avail. With her weighing only 125 pounds and him weighing 200 pounds, she didn't have the strength to move him off of her. If she couldn't move him off of her and if she couldn't stop him from chocking her, then she was going to die.

In all the raucous uproar, John never heard Malcolm pull up behind his pickup truck carrying her lost tube of lipstick that he found on the floor of his car. He never saw Malcolm's giant body slowly lumber up the front steps as if a dark, avenging Angel coming to give John the justice he deserved. With all the commotion going on inside, he never heard Malcolm banging on the front door, ringing the doorbell, and rattling the doorknob. He never saw Malcolm until the door that he smashed off the hinges with a big shoulder hit him in the back while he was choking, sexually assaulting, and trying to kill June.

As if he was a focused linebacker intent on picking up a fumble, Malcolm had a face full of rage. No doubt, with him having a dark side too, it was probably the same face full of rage that he had when he shot and killed his two brothers for raping his sister, Lucille. Now here before him was a man beating, chocking, and raping his June. Life is funny sometimes and history certainly does repeat itself, but thank God for men like Malcolm.

He had no idea who this man fucking, slapping, chocking, and yelling at June was. Never having met her husband, he didn't know if he was her husband, a client, a home invader, or a psycho. She told him that she had thrown her husband out of the house after she caught him having sex with her mother. She told him that she lived alone with her kids which is why he returned with her lipstick and it was a good thing he had. All he knew was that someone was hurting his June.

As if taking out the trash, he reached his strong arm down and grabbed him by the back of his belt with one massive hand. He wrapped his other hand around his neck, squeezed, and pulled him off of June. In one fluid motion, as if doing a clean and jerk with a jerk, he erected his full height and tossed John against the wall so much like a bale of hay or a human battering ram. Flying through the air head first, when her husband's head struck the wall and put a hole in the drywall, he collapsed in an unconscious heap.

"June. June. Are you okay, baby?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," she said coughing through her tears. She sat up.

"Who is he?" Malcolm looked over at him with her.

"My husband," she said sobbing in her hands. "Did you kill him? He looks dead," she said looking at her husband not moving.

"Nah," said Malcolm walking to John to give him a kick in the ribs before reaching down to feel his neck for a pulse, "I just tossed him a little is all. If I wanted to kill him, he'd be dead already."

Coughing and making sounds as if he needed medical attention, when John stirred and tried to stand in the way of a drunk going against a sober and much bigger bouncer in a barroom brawl, Malcolm nudged him down again with a hip check and a shoulder shove that sent him flying against the wall again.

"Best you stay down little man before I really put the hurt to you," he said in his big, booming baritone voice.

Again, John tried standing and when he did, Malcolm pinned him against the wall. With a hand around his neck, he lifted him up off the floor and held him there as if he was hanging beef.

"Get off of me, boy," he said John struggling to break Malcolm's chokehold. "That's my wife."

"Boy? Did you just call me boy, cracker? Are you kidding me?" Towering over him by 10 inches, Malcolm wrapped a big hand around his pencil neck. "You're either blind, suicidal, or crazy calling me boy to my face?" He sniffed him. "Well, that explains it, you're drunk."

John took a swing that bounced off Malcolm's shoulder.

"You'd have to do better than that to knock me off my feet." With that, Malcolm gave him an uppercut that sent his head backward against the wall again and his butt to the floor when his knees crumbled.

Malcolm turned to June. Naked and weak, he helped her to her feet. Trying to catch her breath, she was coughing and gasping for air.

"Are you okay? Do you need me to take you to the hospital."

"No, I'm alright. I just need to catch my breath," she said. "If you hadn't been here, he would have killed me," she said holding her neck before giving him a hug and crying in his chest. "How did you know I needed help? Why did you return?"

"Your lipstick," he said reaching in his pocket and pulling out her lipstick. He handed it to her. "It rolled beneath my foot as I was driving."

"Oh, Malcolm, thank God for you. You're a Godsend, a real lifesaver, and my hero," she said standing on her toes to kiss his lips.

"Go on upstairs and put on some clothes," he said hugging her and kissing the top of her head after returning her kiss. "Then, grab what you need, collect your kids, and I'll take you somewhere safe. Don't worry about leaving stuff behind, whatever else you need, I'll buy you."

"But, this is my house Malcolm," she June looking around her small house.

"Not anymore it is. Trust me, I've seen this before, rather than another man have you, a guy like this will kill you than not have you."

"Thank you, Malcolm," she said covering her nakedness with her torn clothes and running upstairs. She quickly returned with two suitcases and her kids.

"Let me get you some ice," he said going in the kitchen. "You're going to have a bruise on your face where he hit you."

"I hit my head on the table too," she said holding the back of her head. "It really hurts."

He wrapped some ice in a dish towel and handed it to her.

"You have a big bump there," he said lightly touching the back of her head with his fingers. "You may have a concussion. Don't worry about the suitcases, I'll get them. You take the kids out to the car while I talk some sense to your husband."

Malcolm filled a pan with cold water and threw it on John to soak him awake.

"Get up, you miserable piece of shit," he said with a kick of his foot to his ribs before taking his big foot to hold down the side of his head.

Having not learned his lesson, John stirred and raised his head up enough to spit on him. His spit landed on his Malcolm's knee.

"You son of a bitch. These are new pants," said Malcolm looking down at his leg before looking down at the reason for his rage.

He grabbed John by the hair and pulled him up to his knees.

"You can wipe that off with your face, you miserable piece of drunken shit." He pushed him back and John's head hit the wall again. "Now listen to me fool because what I say now is the difference in your living or dying. I don't care which." He slapped him hard across the face when John closed his eyes. "That's for hitting a woman," he said slapping him hard across the face again. "Don't pass out on me, white boy."

"Fuck you," said John still defiant in his drunkenness.

"Listen to me," said Malcolm lifting him by his hair. "If you ever try and see June or the kids again, I'll kill you. If the police ever find your dead, dismembered body, you're mother won't even recognize you after I'm done with you." He shook John's head hard by his hair. "Do you hear me cocksucker? Do you understand what I'm saying to you motherfucker?"

"Yes, I hear you. Yes, I understand. Now, just get the fuck out of my house," said John still full of drunken defiance.