Chapter 6

Gwen watched her husband pacing the floor. It was the third night in a row he had bolted up in bed screaming. She had asked what was wrong only once. The words were barely out of her mouth when his hand lashed out and knocked her back into the pillow.

"I'm sorry, baby, sorry," he said, sobbing and burying his head in her shoulder. The welt on the side of her face hurt, but she said nothing. She held him close, soothing him and watching him as he nervously got to his feet and paced the floor.

Night after night the nightmares came. Allen was irritable and jumpy, complaining about the four walls closing in on him, suggesting they go away for a vacation, but never letting the idea go farther than talk.

Gwen became anxious too; anxious to tell him about her friends in Santa Monica, about how good they were to her and what they had done for her.

After that first weekend with them, she had returned duteously every Friday night, letting them share her body in their bizarre ways, sucking on Sybil's vagina, licking Bob's anus, letting them humiliate her with acts she could not imagine possible. She wanted Allen to share in their wonderful attentions, to bring him with her and let him taste the true beauty of friendship.

Sometimes, when they were through with her and she was driving back to Oceanside, she would feel strange forebodings about the events she had been the center of. Sometimes she would stop and have a cup of coffee and think about the things they said to her, the pain they inflicted on her body, and she would shiver, as she did when it was terribly cold or she was climbing out of the warm pool into the wind. The feelings would pass and the chill would be replaced with a warmth that grew from love, the love Bob and Sybil had shown her throughout the long months of Allen's absence.

It had been five weeks since she had seen Bob and Sybil and her body ached to feel their caresses, to sense their tongues and mouths ravaging her body, to smell the heady odor of their genitals hovering over her face.

"Allen?" She flicked the bedlamp on and looked at her husband's haggard face as he marched back and forth near the foot of the bed.

"What?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing.

"Allen, sit down, please? Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong."

"You can't sleep. You're nervous. You smoke until you cough like you had T.B. Please, Allen, tell me?"

He slumped heavily on the bed, pushing his face into his hands.

"I can't, Gwen. I can't. I don't know myself. I don't know why I keep thinking about it."

"About what?" Her voice was timid and shaky. She still remembered the pain when he had hit her that night, and instinctively reached up to touch the aching bruise.

"I don't want to talk about it, Gwen. A man has to work some things out for himself. Don't you understand? Are all women bitches? Nosy, sniveling bitches?"

He faced her, his hands balling at his sides, his eyes burning.

"Women," he spat. "All you think about is killing. Vicious little cunts attacking a man, ripping him to pieces with needling questions, prying into his private life. Leave me alone, Goddamnit. Leave me alone!"

Her hand shaking, Gwen turned the light off and waited for him to continue his pacing. She felt the bed sag and his hand press against her leg. He was mumbling something she couldn't understand as he crawled up on top of her and mashed his mouth against hers, roughly grating his teeth against her lip and yanking her to him. She went limp in his arms, feeling like a stranger as his mouth gnawed at her neck and his hands pushed away the covers.

He grabbed her breast and twisted it until she whimpered.

"Allen, that hurts. Allen."

"You like it though, don't you?" he snarled, scooping his hand under her nightie and ripping the sheer material away. The neckband caught against her ribs and burned as it snapped.

He wedged himself between her thighs and his blunt fingers probed restlessly at her snatch, pinching it harshly and stabbing in without any foreplay.

"Don't be rough, Allen," she sobbed, holding onto his neck as he raised her hips and shoved his hard penis into her. She felt the shaft scrape against her dry tissues and tear the opening as it forced itself into her.

"I'm your husband, remember. You're my wife." His voice was low and gruff and she shivered with fear as she felt his hands roughing up her flesh angrily.

His teeth sank into her neck and she felt them grind the flesh until the pain seared into her mind. She shook and clenched her teeth as he humped into her, thrashing his cock against the walls of her swat. His teeth chopped as he bit down her neck and caught her nipple in his mouth. He pinched the tip strongly between his teeth and pulled it up, distending it until it felt as though it were going to rip off her breast.

Reflexively, her legs tightened around his waist and she cried out.

"See," he hissed, letting the tit drop out of his mouth. "You like it, Gwen. You're like the rest of those Oriental bitches. Pain is good. Isn't it?"

Gwen didn't listen as he cursed in her ear, calling her a slant-eyed slut, a bitch, a whore and other invectives she couldn't understand coming from her husband. They fell out of his mouth like bad breath, souring the lovemaking that he forced on her.