A Bestiary of Unnatural Women (26 page)

There would be more conversations like this
in the months to come. She would do what she had to do to make it
so.

She began to cry.

INR

Rick Gets a Surprise

Deb was a bitch that night. A real bitch. I
don't know what brought it on, but she was all over me like ugly on
an old nun. I don't do enough housework. I don't treat her family
right. I don't treat her like the damned princess she wants to be.
Nothing that I've done in my whole life was good enough for her.
Hell, I do the best I can. I work hard. I earn a decent living. I
do my share of the household chores. She's got nothing to complain
about. Yet, there she was, putting me down, calling me every name
in the book and then not talking to me for the rest of the night.
Maybe it's PMS. Maybe it's because her mother hates her father.
Maybe it's hereditary insanity. I don't know. But whatever it is, I
sure didn't feel like going home after work the next day. I
couldn’t put up with another night of her shit.

So I was sitting around in my office after
six, logging some overtime, looking for anything to do to delay the
end of the workday, when my computer beeped at me. I looked at the
screen and saw that it was an email from the harridan.

I expected that she'd be crapping all over me
for missing supper and not calling to tell her that I was going to
be late. Like she expected that I'd be thrilled to return home
after her performance the night before. I almost didn't open the
email, probably wouldn't have, except the subject line was kind of
intriguing. “INR: I hope you'll enjoy giving me what I need.” It
wasn't the “what I need” part that intrigued me – she never gets
tired of telling me what I need to do for her – it was the word
“enjoy” that caught my eye. She never before suggested that I might
enjoy doing what she demanded. Had her mind finally jumped the
tracks?

I opened the email. The further I read, the
more mystified I felt. It said:

Dear Rick:

Don't ask me why, but tonight I need to be
raped. That's right, raped. Sexually used by a man without any
regard whatsoever for what I might be suffering. I need to be used
cruelly and brutally in any way that you wish. You must take me
however you like despite any show of reluctance, verbal or
physical, that I might throw at you. You must overcome me by
threats or physical force if required. You must let nothing I do or
say stand in the way of obtaining sexual satisfaction from me.

I only ask that you do not leave me with any
permanent injuries. If you need to use your fists to subdue me, you
will not need to use your full strength. You can blacken an eye or
bloody my nose if you have to, but don't break my teeth or crush
the bones around my eye socket. They wouldn't heal properly.

I also ask that you restrict this brutal
treatment to the next twenty-four hours, at your convenience, and
return to your sweet and gentle ways after that.

To reiterate in absolutely clear terms, I
expect that you will violently and brutally violate me in any way
you wish, as often as you wish, between now and noon tomorrow.

I need it. Please give me what I need.

Yours (literally),

Deb

PS. If you have any doubts about my
sincerity, you will be assured when you find that I have left some
items to assist you on the bureau inside the front door and will be
wearing a slightly-faded yellow sundress.

I was both appalled and thrilled by her
words. Did she really mean what she wrote? She must have. Could the
email have been spoofed by someone else? Not if she were indicating
her compliance by wearing a old, out-of-season dress that had been
hanging unworn in her closet for years. This had to be the real
thing. My raging hard-on told me that the ancient parts of my brain
that controlled my basic biological reflexes thought this was the
real thing. Despite years of living in a “civilized” culture, I had
a primal urge to give her exactly what she was asking for.

My cock had decided. Her fate was inevitable.
I shut down my computer and rushed out of my office.

My dear Deb was facing a vigorous raping in
her very near future.

Stealth or rampage? That question filled my
mind when I was standing on our front step. Do I sneak in a back
window like a cat burglar or burst through the front door like a
conquering Mongol? Words from her email popped into my mind:
“crudely”, “brutally”, “violently”. Those words hardly described
sneaking in a back window after she was asleep.

I slammed the door open, stepped into the
house, and roared, “Where are you, bitch?”

There was no answer.

As promised, a roll of duct tape, a pair of
handcuffs, and a box of condoms were lying on the entryway bureau
where I normally kept my wallet and keys. The mini-rape-kit
confirmed that there was no mistake. She was requesting a rape
scenario. I was nervous about her talk about fists and blood but
trusted that those phrases were included in her email merely to set
the mood. I did not expect the game to escalate to that level of
violence. I believed that, paradoxically, actual violence would
inhibit me and destroy the realism of the game.

When I burst through that door, I neither
understood my wife's needs nor my own capabilities. I was soon to
learn some disturbing things about both of us.

Confident in my superior strength, I sneered
at the tape and handcuffs. Only a wimp would need mechanical
assistance. And what was with the condoms, anyway? What kind of
pussy did she think I was? I followed the sound of the television
into the family room.

As promised, my wife was wearing a faded
yellow sundress. That dress, confirming her complicity, was the
final sign that irrevocably sealed her fate. Now all her screams
and pleading would mean nothing to me. She could abandon all hope
of mercy. Now, “No,” meant “Keep going harder, stud.” She was going
to feel my cock pounding in her cunt in the next few minutes no
matter what she did or said.

When she saw me, she said nothing; she merely
pulled her bare feet off the floor, curled herself into a ball in
the corner of the couch and whimpered like a newborn kitten.

Her vulnerability enraged me. I wasn't acting
a part any longer, I was unleashing my true self when I strode
across the room, wrapped my hand in the hair at the back of her
head and pulled her off the couch. She screamed in pain as I
dragged her out of the room by her hair. I didn't care; my only
thought was to get away from the blaring television set and find a
little peace and quiet. I was in no mood to hear Oprah fussing away
in the background and it was easier and quicker to drag my woman
away from the TV than to fiddle with the remote. My high level
cortex was idling in neutral now; my behavior was entirely
controlled by my cerebellum and limbic system.

Deb clawed desperately at my hands, trying to
pull them out of her hair. I ignored her girlish, ineffectual
efforts. A few scratches on the back of my hands meant nothing to
me. Keeping her head at waist level, I duck-walked her, screaming
and scrambling to keep on her feet, all the way through the kitchen
to the dining room. There, I kicked one of the dining chairs aside,
pulled her up and slammed her face and chest across the dining room
table. She grunted in pain when her abdomen was jammed against the
edge of the table and the wind was driven from her.

Pulling my hands out of her hair, I jerked
the hem of her skirt over her hips to reveal white cotton panties.
Who needs red lace to get turned on? Soft white cotton had never
looked so sexy. I was inflamed beyond all control.

As soon as she realized that I had released
my grip on her hair, she pushed herself off the table and her skirt
fell back to her knees. Uncooperative bitch! I grabbed the dress
where it was buttoned up the back and pulled with all my
considerable strength. Yellow plastic buttons flew everywhere and
fabric shredded with a loud rip as the dress was torn from her
shoulders. She screamed and clutched at the front of her dress but
to no avail. I kept tearing the cloth out of her hands and away
from her body until the dress was nothing but piles of yellow rags
lying around her feet. She was wearing no bra. I grabbed her hair
with my right hand and slammed her naked tits against the table,
forcing her ass into the air, and began ripping at her panties with
my left. They did not shred as easily as the dress; I must have
bruised her cunt and hips terribly as I pulled and tugged at the
cotton fabric with one hand while I held her down with the other.
Her arms flailed about uselessly as she beat her hands against the
table and screamed continuously. I never did manage to tear the
panties; eventually I pushed them down her legs and began fumbling
with my belt and pants. It took two hands to free myself and I had
to alternate between working at my own clothes and pushing her back
on the table and yelling at her to stay where I put her. She tried
kicking me with her heels but she couldn't connect properly. Damn
the bitch had a lot of fight in her.

I finally got my shorts down. I pressed her
face against the table, and kicked her knees wide apart. Thrusting
into her cunt was easy; she was wide open and as wet as the Pacific
Ocean. As I thrust into her again and again, her screams turned to
sobs.

I don't know if she would have come
eventually or not. She wasn't getting any clitoral stimulation and
had never come before on the precious few occasions when I had
convinced her to assume the doggy position. On the other hand,
neither one of us had ever before experienced such an intensely
emotional coupling. She might have come from the violent pounding
in her pussy alone if I'd been able to keep it going for long
enough. I didn't. I was so turned on that I expended myself after
only a few thrusts. She kept sobbing piteously as I finished in
her.

Tough titty. Like her email said, this was
about me and I didn't give a damn what she felt, one way or the
other. Whether her sobbing was caused by her pain, frustration, or
humiliation was irrelevant. Her feelings were nothing to me.

As soon as I was finished, I wrapped my hands
in her hair at the sides of her head, dragged her off the table and
forced her to her knees in front of my dripping crotch. I snarled,
“Lick me clean, bitch. Lick off every drop of slime and swallow it
or I'll beat you to a pulp.”

I held her there while she wept and snivelled
and licked for all she was worth. Good thing. I was so enraged, I
might well have forgotten her admonition against using my full
strength and pounded her face flat if she had disobeyed me. And she
knew it; she could hear it in my voice. Neither one of us was
acting a part in a fantasy role-playing game. This was pure, honest
animal behavior freshly dredged from the depths of our evolutionary
memories.

When I grew tired of feeling her tongue
scraping against my limp cock, I toppled her backward onto the
hardwood floor and growled, “I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Stay away
from me for the rest of the night.”

I don't know where she slept, or even if she
slept, but I slept like a baby alone in our king-sized bed for a
full ten hours. The next morning, I showered and dressed before I
went looking for her.

I found her curled up into a foetal position
in the easy chair in the living room, naked and shivering, watching
me with big fearful eyes. I remembered that her email had said that
I had unrestricted access to her body until noon. She probably
expected that I would brutalize her again this morning. Seeing her
cowed and vulnerable, I was half tempted to take her again but
didn't feel like flying into a new rage and didn't want to dilute
the previous night's primal experience by following it up with some
half-hearted poking at her.

Instead, I said not a single word. I walked
out the front door and drove to work.

When I got home that evening, on time and in
an excellent mood, I found Deb dressed in jeans and a plaid blouse,
cooking a pasta salad. She greeted me with a cheerful, “Hello,
dear. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” She was acting like
nothing unusual had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

When we sat down to dinner, I looked at her
face. Her forehead and cheeks were blue and yellow where they had
been bruised by the repeated pounding against the table. They had
to be hurting. At least I hadn't broken her nose. She appeared to
be sitting rather gingerly on the wooden chair. I wondered how
badly I had bruised her other end.

Suddenly I understood the remorse of the wife
beater. I was seized by a deep, sincere regret. “I'm sorry,” I
said, spontaneously. “I'm so sorry.”

“No,” she snapped. “Never be sorry for giving
me what I need. Never. You can never do this to me unless I ask for
it. But when I do ask, then I need you go at me full out and never
regret it for a minute, do you understand?”

“No,” I said. “I don't understand.”

She smiled sadly. “I guess you don't. And
it's not something that I can explain.”

“So you're telling me that you liked what I
did.”

“Not a bit.” She paused for a long minute
while I struggled to understand. Then she said, “Do you like going
to the dentist to get a cavity filled?”

“No.” I hated going to the dentist, even for
a cleaning.

“But you need to go anyway.”

“If I have a cavity, sure. I need to go even
if I don't like it.”

“Okay. It's the same with me. Sometimes I
have a cavity that needs to be filled. More than one, in fact,” she
smiled mischievously, “and you're the dentist who has to do the
filling. I don't want it and I sure as hell don't enjoy it, but I
need it just as much as I'd need to get an aching tooth filled. If
you enjoy the work, then I'm pleased for you. I want you to enjoy
it as much as you can. But mostly I want you to do a thorough job
on me. Really thorough. You did the job all right last night and I
want you to do an even better when I ask you again. And make no
mistake. It will happen again. Not soon and not often. Maybe next
month or maybe not for a year or more, but it will happen. The rest
of the time, most of the time, I want you to make love to me gently
and lovely like you always do. Making love to me and raping me are
two completely different things and you have to keep them
completely separate in your own mind. When you're raping me, you
have to really be raping me and when you're making love to me, you
have to really be making love to me.”