Chapter 8

I screamed and screamed inside the tiny hotel room. It was as disgusting as the one he’d paid for last time at The Stadium. No doubt, he had taken me there to reinforce his lesson about being lucky that he only whipped me with a belt!

Leland had rented a spreader bar from Jason the pimp. I lay on my back, pussy open to my tormentor’s attacks. He belted my vulva mercilessly! My tits were striped red too from the folded length of leather. I kept screaming. No one came to my rescue.

“You fucking, fucking CUNT!” He howled at me! “You just had to push my buttons. I treated you better than right. You even let your cuck husband take secret jibes at me!”

“My boy! You twisted him. He was so sweet!” I shrieked. My maternal instinct had arrived late for kicking the old black man out of our life that horrible day! I kept up a stream of repetition about the wreck he’d made of my son’s birthday party. I was no longer helpless emotionally. My tirade kept me sane through his brutal assault.

He threw down his belt and fell on top of me. In a minute, his fat prick was stuffing my aching fuck hole. I sobbed then.

He didn’t last long that time. It wasn’t five minutes before his plunging cock erupted with hot cum, flooding my beaten pussy and squishing out from our joined sexes.

Leland pushed me off of the cot, the spreader bar still locked to my ankles. I fell awkwardly on my butt. He hadn’t whipped it, preferring torture my more sensitive tissues. Still my sobs accelerated.

Long before my tears slowed. He was asleep. I lay shivering on what remained of a filthy, stinking carpet. I don’t think I slept that night. I lay on the floor worried about my family. What would they think when I showed up the next day? Would he keep me longer? Leland may have hired the room for a full night, but could he afford multiple days there?

My body was comatose from pain, but my mind swirled with anxiety!

I didn’t feel the anklets being unbuckled and the spreader bar falling when Leland picked me up and put me on the cot. I don’t know what time in the night it happened. He pushed a renewed, thick erection into my sore puss and fucked me slowly. He didn’t say anything, but he kissed my beaten body, from lips to belly button, spending plenty of time kissing and sucking and licking my tits.

In the dark of that awful night, my greatest shame came to pass. “Uuuhhnnggh!!” I groaned loudly.

“There it is, Baby.” His voice was at peace. “You’re finally doing it.”

I was cumming.

Somehow the contrast of pain and gentleness had set me up for my body’s ultimate betrayal to my psyche.

The extent of my orgasm isn’t important. It was not very intense, nor did it last long. Although I welcomed its temporary relief from pain, My life’s burden had increased with my greater fall from innocence. Before cumming from Leland’s kisses and slow fucking, I could claim being a victim. Technically, I still could. Even a woman who orgasms during rape, is still being criminally violated if it’s against her will.

My experience was one of my world crashing upon my shoulders. I was betraying my husband and neglecting my children. “No, no no no...”

“Shhhh, Colleen.” Leland continued to kiss and fuck me, but I didn’t climax again that night.

He fucked me that following morning. I pleaded him to let me go home. He fucked me two hours later. The man was a bull. I had a milder climax, not quite a real orgasm in my book. He didn’t lord it over me that second time. I think he just failed to notice it. I had kept quiet through my brief, pleasurable throes.

Finally, he led me down to the lobby, my ‘birthday party’ clothes in terrible disarray, my hair and skin filthy from the room and Leland’s cum.

It was finally check-out time. He escorted me to my Volvo and opened the door. “You still owe me.” Leland shut me in and wandered down the shadowed street. I sat in the locked vehicle until I had spilt what tears remained in my eyes.

The kids were at school when I returned home, but George had stayed out of work. I wept fresh tears in his embrace. He patted me awkwardly, jealousy and sympathy at odds in his heart. He guided me to our bedroom.

There, he drew a hot bath and helped me step in. I nearly begged him to drown me, but I was too afraid of being rejected. For the first time, George saw the welts on my body, but he did not falter in supporting me.

My grieving husband waited in the chair by his bed. I heard him sniffing unhappily.

When the water grew cold, I climbed out, toweling myself while going to him. “You’re amazing, George. You did your best yesterday.

I did not, Colleen. His head remained bowed. “I hated you, really hated you for letting him in our home. He’s been here before, right.”

He didn’t need me to confirm his suspicions. “The only hate you have, My Love, isn’t for me. You had no choice. Please, Husband, forgive yourself.”

“I try. I know the truth. Mr. J- LEland is the one responsible. But I did think ill of you obeying him.”

“How so?” I sat on the edge of the bed across from his chair.

He had to wrestle the question from humiliation’s grip. “Did obeying him turn you on?”

I shook my head. “I hated it, but what I hate worse is my inability to stand up for myself.”

“Tell me about it.” His lone jibe submerged into a sea of shame. We sat for an hour wanting to hold each other, both unable to enact that hypocrisy.

The children walked quickly after their release from school. I was wearing my opaque robe, but bra and panties would have been torture. “Mom! Why were you gone all night?” Ridley shook me in his hugging arms. I winced under his embrace, hearing his frustrating. “I wanted you to tuck me in bed!”

“Pooh, you’re too old to be tucked in.” I patted his hair as arrhythmically as he hugged me. “But it was my Birthday!”

“I can tuck you in tonight, if you really want.”

“Don’t be a pest, Brat. You may be fourteen now, but your special day is over.” Peg was in fine form. “Mom what happened between you and Mr. Jones last night?” She went in for the kill.

“PEG!” George shouted.

She scowled, allowing her question to hang. Ridley was instantly interested too.

I sighed, shaking my head. “You really have some imagination, Peg.” I began. “Mr. Jones isn’t used to eating all the junk we served last night. He got ill, and I decided to stay with him overnight. I even took him to the hospital this morning, but they said it wasn’t serious. Fortunately, Medicare paid for his exam.” I could have added something about his deceased wife, but George might have laughed.

“You know your mother has a soft heart for underprivileged people. Peg, you need to start seeing the good in her, instead blaming her for the constraints that caring parents place on their children.”

Although Peg could wrap her daddy around her little finger, she was also more likely to be swayed by his lectures over mine.

The antagonistic mood in the room cleared, and we strived for a normal evening together. Before going to bed that night, I asked Ridley if he wanted me to tuck him in. He saw Peg holding back her mirth, a first for her. “I guess not. I’m glad you could help Mr. Jones.”

“Good night -- Rider.” Peg let loose with a cackle.

“PEG!” It was my turn to be cross with her.

“I was just joking, Mom.” She kept shuddering, stifling laughter.

“It’s your bedtime too.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She headed to her room.

I snuggled up to George.

“Not tonight, Colleen.” He looked miserable.

“Not even a good night kiss?”

My husband stood up, looking suddenly wretched, as if he’d been holding back his pain all day. “I just need more time, er, this time.”

I stared at a black screen for nearly an hour before going to bed. I took care not to wake him.

An entire weekend commenced without a single, noteworthy event! It was marvelous to live like a family you’d watch on a general audiences cable channel. I totally accepted George’s reticence to be sexual. Unfortunately, those two relatively peaceful days raced past us.

George had already left for work when I woke up on Monday morning. I crept out of our bedroom just in time to wish the kids a good day at school.

I went to work without breakfast, having finished the birthday leftovers for Sunday’s dinner. I was a little behind on my quota, but I could handle support calls very efficiently compared to the department’s average time. I didn’t catch up that day, but I got close. I had a baloney sandwich for lunch.

George kissed me good-night that night, but that was all. I slept well. In the morning, while he dressed and went to fix breakfast, I took my basal temperature and checked my cervical mucus. Fear gripped me when the results showed that I was beginning to ovulate.

I arrived late for breakfast. I ate a hard boiled egg and a slice of toast with strawberry jam. The family dispersed.

By Tuesday’s end, I’d exceeded my quota by a small margin. I fixed a salad for lunch during my shift. When it was over, I took a bath and rested. Ridley found me in my houserobe lying in bed. I had left the door open, because being alone in a closed room was beginning to make me anxious.

“Hey, Mom.” He poked his head in.

“Hey.”

“Are you sick?”

“No, Honey. I had a stressful day.”

“I could give you a massage.”

“That’s very kind of you, but that’s your father’s job.”

“We don’t have to tell him.”

I suddenly felt like I was in a story trope. “Now you’re just being silly.”

He giggled. “Peg would flip if she saw me rubbing your back.”

“So that’s what you’re up to.” I figured his motives didn’t center on me.

“She started it, trying to accuse you of doing something bad with Mr. Jones.”

“I forgive her. She’s has her own problems which I can only do so much to help her with.”

“That’s what makes her mean?”

“What makes you want to be mean to her?”

“I don’t know. She’s so unfair all the time.”

“What did you think of Mr. Jones?” I skipped a beat in our conversation.

“Huh?” His head tilted. “Uh...” He thought for a bit. “ ... I guess he’s okay. I didn’t like that he was mean to Dad.” He said “Dad” instead of “Daddy.”

“Mr. Jones was very tired, and his upset stomach got the best of him. Can you forgive him?”

“I guess.” My son took a gamble in telling me, “I kinda liked being called Rider.”

“Even when your sister made fun of that?”

“She’s just jealous that I got something cool from him even better than condoms.”

“You think your sister cares about an old, black man?”

“You’re being racist, Mom.”

“I suppose you’re right, but how would you react if you found Mr. Jones doing something bad to me?”

“I’d beat him up Mom. He’s just an old guy. Would he really do something bad to you?”

“No, Sweetheart. I’m just trying to understand how you feel about him.”

“Huh.”

“Do you have homework?”

“Yeah.” He shuffled away to his room.

I imagined Ridley smashing a baseball bat into Leland’s spine, after discovering him belting me. I wish I could report masturbating to that comforting image of being saved by my son. I just sighed and dressed for the evening.

A text arrived on my phone, from an unknown number. “I finally bought a new phone, Leen! Give me a call.” I considered Leland was playing a trick on me, but I had entered the black man’s new number in my contact info, so his calls would bypass filters against unknown callers. I texted back. “What did the garage mechanic ask me?”

“I’m not sure I should text that without encryption.”

Close enough. I called him. “Congratulations, George, you’re live in the real world again.”

“It’s a strange, real world.”

“You’re telling me.” I wished I hadn’t said that.

“That tells me you aren’t forgiving yourself enough, Leen.”

“How are you doing on that ‘work?’”

“Poorly, but I’m feeling less sorry for myself.”

“Why don’t we celebrate spending a bunch of money for your phone, by going out for dinner?”

“We could spend even more if we brought the kids.”

“I’ll ready their muzzles.”

I had been kidding. George wasn’t. He took the family to a sushi restaurant! Peg was adventurous enough to try the raw nigiri. Ridley made a face and ordered tempura shrimp. My stomach churned at the thought of all that grease in my son’s young stomach, but he had survived a ton of junk food on his birthday.

I ordered ebi, complete with it’s deep fried, whole shell. And uni, a disgusting pile of sagging meat that looked like baby poop but when fresh, tasted unlike other delicious things.

George attempted to order fugu, hoping to outdo my sushi challenge, but I instantly shot down that notion, and our server said it wasn’t available on or off the menu. He then ordered, “One of each thing that has fish eggs on it.”

The variety of sushi which arrived for him didn’t look all that bad. Ridley made a face but soaked up all of his dipping sauce with his deep fried shrimp. I added a reminder in my phone to buy stomach medicine on our way home. The dinner bill was our largest ever.

Alone in our room that night, George and I hugged and kissed. I asked if he wanted to hear a story.

His sudden meekness surprised me. “You really like telling them, don’t you?”

“I thought you were enjoying them?”

“They’re really hot, but they’ve all been about cuckolding me.”