Road Rash - Cover

Road Rash

Copyright© 2014 by oyster50

Chapter 13

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 13 - Chuck's on the road going home. It's amazing the things one might find on the side of the road. Like Jen, a bit bent, but not broken.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Oral Sex   Masturbation   Petting   Cream Pie   Slow  

Still Jenn's turn:

A week passed without a single phone call. No more letters. Chuck and I began to relax again. "Maybe he figured out that you're gone from his life, punkin," Chuck told me.

"I hope so," I said. "He's got NOTHING for me, Chuck. What little there was, I tried making it a big deal. Now, since you and I have been together, I see what a sad mess that it all was. You're ... we're magic together."

"I like the way we fit, Jenn," he said.

I gave him a look.

He laughed. "Yeah, THAT way, too..."

"I know what you mean. We just seemed to slide together like we were mapped out for each other."

"Yes. You're the prescription for the disease I didn't know I had."

"Oooooo," I giggled. "I love it when you talk medical."

"Part of my charm," he laughed.

Yes, intelligence was indeed part of it. His feeling that he could be himself freed me up to be myself. I didn't have to soft-pedal my vocabulary for fear that I'd sound uppity to Bert and his friends and family. I got to listen to MY music on speakers instead of headphones.

The first time he walked in after work and I was already home after a bad day at the hospital, I had something Bach on, Art of the Fugue I think. I was stretched out, leaned against the back of the sofa, my eyes closed. He sat down beside me, gave me a gentle kiss, then encouraged me to lay down, my head in his lap, and he massaged me. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I mean, I didn't ask, hint, whine, cajole, coerce. Said, "Hi, baby." And he did that.

Yeah, I'm gonna give THIS up. Not!

Worst arguments we have are over what to do about food or folding clothes. I fold the towels right. He folds them wrong. It's that simple. He showed me HIS way, giving me a stern look. I showed him the way I was going to fold them, and offered him a variety of physical coercions to get him to accept the decision.

Afterward, I smiled at him and said, "Now was it worth it for me to get my way?"

"Not nice to gloat after sex, my dear," he laughed as he rolled me over for Round Two.

After that one I told him, "Wait until you see me fold your underwear..."

It is good. I want it to stay that way. So I got home on Tuesday, started supper in the oven, waited for Chuck. He got home, we ate our meal, were watching TV. It was beginning to get dark outside when there was knock at the door.

"Probably the UPS guy with that stuff we ordered last week," Chuck said arising from the sofa where we were curled up.

He went to the door. I heard it open, then a sound like somebody slapping a big chunk of meat on the counter. And the sound of a body hitting the floor.

I jumped up and saw MY Chuck laid out on the floor, bleeding from a laceration on the side of his head, and BERT stepping over him.

He saw me. "Knocked your pansy-ass boyfriend OUT!" he said, like his was proud of himself.

"Bert!" I screamed, "Get OUT of here! I don't want to SEE you. I'm married to HIM!"

"This thing?" He prodded Chuck's unconscious form with the toe of his cowboy boot. "Ain't much, darlin'. You need to be with ME!"

"Go away, Bert! You ain't happening. I'm calling the police!" I reached for the phone, but he was across the room in a blink. I was caught. Dead caught.

"Jenn, baby, don't make me be like this. I love you, baby. We belong together."

My mind is going a thousand miles an hour. My Chuck is laying over there on the floor, bleeding, unconscious, knocked out. He needs medical attention. And this turd has the drop on me. He takes the phone from me and yanks it out of the wall.

"Now! Where's the bedroom, baby? We're gonna make love like we used ta do." He grabbed the back of my scrubs. "You know I always liked you in these things." He was pushing me up the hall ahead of him.

Okay. I'm thinking. I'm playing helpless. And I know something. I need a little time, a little running room, a tiny bit of freedom. I can do this. Bert's got a real big ... ego. I can force myself...

"Bert, baby..." I said, pulling up every bit of Southern charm I could generate. "You ... You really WANT me. You REALLY want me. I never saw you like this before. How come you never ... You're so forceful. You know I love it when you're manly!"

Any man with half his senses would've read right through it, but ol' Bert has that ego, plus, up close, I can smell a bit of booze. Clarity of thought isn't his strong suit when he's sober. His face softened.

"Let's toss the covers off this thing. You an' me can..."

"I'm gonna FUCK you right here!" he said. He let me loose. "Strip! I wanna see those titties again!" I moved around to the other side of the bed as I undressed. I bent over.

"Gotta ditch these shoes so I can get my pants off," I said.

When I bent over, there's the shelf right there on the nightstand. I came up with a pistol.

"Outta here, Bert. Right now. Back up, turn around, and leave!"

"I ain't. You're still a BITCH, you know, Jenn. This is the shit that kept me from marryin' you in the first place!" And he started to come around the bed.

"Stop, Bert! I mean it!"

"Fuckin' bitch! Put it down!" he hissed, raising his hands to grab me.

Wasn't no seven yards. I pulled the trigger three times before he started to fall. He hit the floor. I'm a nurse. This part isn't brain surgery. Three 9mm hits in the center of the chest, point blank range, premium defense ammo. No exit wounds. Quick check. No pulse. I jump over his carcass and run to Chuck.

Chuck's got a pulse. Not reacting, though. Cellphone. 9-1-1.

"What's your emergency?"

"There's been a home invasion. My husband is unconscious. The intruder has been shot. He's dead. I need an ambulance, stat!"

"You're on a cellphone. Verify your address, please."

I carefully sounded out the street and house number. "Seriously. My husband's unconscious. Head wound. I need an ambulance fast!"

"EMS is on the way. So are the police. Please stay on the phone."

"I'm putting it on speaker and setting it down. My husband's hurt."

When the flashing lights and sirens came up the street I was sitting in the doorway with Chuck's head in my lap. He had a good pulse, his breathing was regular. Past that, I was too busy holding him.

Two blue-clad police officers, weapons drawn, came up first. Behind them I could see neighbors staring through curtains and blinds. A couple of the more brave were out on their lawns.

"No weapons?" the nearest officer questioned.

"There's a pistol on the coffee table. It's been fired. Three rounds out of it. It's still loaded, but the safety's on. Do be careful."

"Dispatch said there's a fatality."

"Up the hall in the bedroom. Albert Corley. Twenty-eight. Fresh restraining order. He's dead. I'm a nurse. I know these things."

By now the EMS had arrived. Two paramedics were unloading a gurney and wheeling it up the walkway to the door.

"Whose gun? Who's the shooter?" the officer asked.

"Chuck's gun. Bert ... Albert was at the door, Chuck opened it..."

"Chuck?"

"Charles LeBert. I'm his wife. This is our house. Bert was my ex. Started problems. We got a restraining order against him."

The second officer squeezed past us into the house and kept his pistol at the ready as he went up the hall. In a minute he was back.

"She's right," he told the first officer. "Chest is gone." He motioned the EMC crew up.

Big overweight guy seemed to be the team leader. His junior was a woman about my age.

"I'm a nurse," I said. "His pulse and respiration is good. Laceration. Took a punch to the side of the head. Out cold. I don't see a compression fracture..."

"Can't be sure by looking," the guy said. By this time his partner was pushing a backboard under Chuck. "We're gonna transport him to Central."

"Can I go with them?" I asked the police officer.

"Afraid not, uh..."

"Virginia LeBert. Jenn. This is MY home."

"Ma'am?" the female paramedic called.

"Yes?"

"He's conscious. He's asking for you."

"Can I?" I asked my policeman.

"Sure. You're not gonna run, are you?"

"Hardly. That's my husband over there. This is MY home."

"Go. Talk to him. But I can't let you go with him right now."

I ran to Chuck's side. Shoes still on. My fake worked out well for me. For Bert? Not so good. I bent over Chuck. "Hey, baby," I said softly. "How d'you feel?"

"Took a whack on the head. I guess that's your friend Bert?"

"Yeah. Not any more, though."

"Not any more?"

"He took me to the bedroom. That pistol by your side of the bed?"

"Yeah?"

"Works."

"No shit?!?"

"Absolutely minimal defecation involved."

He gave me a brave smile. "Cops?"

"Yeah. They won't let me come with you. Seems that shooting somebody is a serious thing around here."

"Call Dodd Grantham."

"The lawyer that did the restraining order?"

"Yeah. He'll know who to get if your need a criminal attorney."

"Okay, baby. You're gonna be okay. Might have a headache."

"Stitches," the female EMS said. "Probably stitches."

"Oh, no," Chuck said. "There goes the modeling contract."

"Hon," we gotta take 'im," the lady said.

I bent over and gave him a kiss. "See you as soon as I can, babe!"

"I love you, Jenn," He said.

"I love you too, Chuck."

They closed the door on the ambulance and took off with flashing lights. I trudged back to the waiting police officers. By this time there were several other people.

The first officer, 'my' cop, said "This is Lieutenant Gaines, our shift supervisor. Lieutenant Gaines, this is Virginia LeBert. This is her house."

I nodded at him. "How do you do, Lieutenant?" I said. "I am NOT having the best of nights."

A second gurney rolled in the front door of MY house. Came back with a body under a sheet. I put a hand out. "Goodbye, Bert. You made this happen."

My policeman, last name Brenner, told his supervisor, "Her ex. Restraining order. He punched out the husband..."

"Pushed me into the bedroom with rape on his mind. I don't want to talk until I get an attorney."

"I understand, Mizz LeBert. Do you have a copy of the restraining order?"

"Yes. It's in the file cabinet. Would you like for me to help you get it?"

"If you would."

I showed him the file cabinet. He pulled the papers.

"This thing's brand new."

"I know," I said. "Started with the phone calls, then he dropped letters at work, and left one in our door. Your guys came out when we found that one."

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