July 6, 2010

Creatures of Habit

Posted in stories tagged at 9:26 pm by littlesubmissions

Sunday was science fiction television night.
Monday was paycheck and bill night.
Tuesday was grocery shopping night.
Wednesday was cleaning and small house repair night.
Thursday was finish off the leftovers night.
Friday was date night.
Saturday was rape night.

Bad things. Heavy scenes. Blood, pain, strangulation. Deep tissue bruising.

Saturdays started off normal. Wake up, shower, have breakfast. Check email. Whatever. Talk about what to have for lunch. At some point, if he wanted to play, he’d take his keys out and set them down beside her. If she didn’t want to play, she’d hand them back. If she took them, put them in her purse or a pocket, it was rape night.

Another odd ritual that developed over time between them. They sometimes wondered if the cat was figuring it out.

After that, he couldn’t leave the house, and they went about their day. At some point, rope would wrap around his neck. A heavy sap glove would smack into his side. A hood would be pulled over his head. Handcuffs would be slapped around his wrists.

Pepper spray was off limits. There’s a story there, or rather two. His is, “It really fucking hurts, and not in a fun way!” Her story is funnier, longer, and involves a lot of flailing arms.

But at some point, rape night would start. Ropes wrapped around his arms and legs while she cut his clothes off and pulled the ripped cloth off between the strands. Gags shoved in his mouth, sealed in with duct tape, eyes wide and drooling on the carpet. Harsh breathing through his nostrils while she sat on his back, heavy boots planted by his head.

Threats whispered in his ear from a ski mask about what would happen if he screamed or tried to get away. Hands dragging him by his hair into other rooms, the bathroom or the garage. Smooth tile or hard stone for catching blood or piss. Or left on the bed, or on the carpet for beating, abrasion play, being tied into painful positions.

Beatings, violations, begging. Begging for pain, or release. Begging for lubricant or to have a dildo shoved in his mouth. Begging for what he was told to beg for, even if he didn’t really want it.

Especially if he didn’t really want it.

Until the rope and ski mask came off. Until the blood flowed back into the joints, or scabbed over and stopped. Until filth was cleaned off, scrubbed down the drain.

Until next Saturday.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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