"No, Tom. Please stop it!! I don't want to have sex with you tonight."
It didn't matter, however. Tom had come home drunk like every other night and was pressing me against the wall of our bedroom, forcing his rough dry fingers inside me. I had just started to get ready for bed and had my black silk robe open to the warm night air. My matching panties and bra were a delicate selection from Victoria's secret and they were doing a poor job at keeping the secrets hidden.
I had started to light the candles in the room minutes before, just having turned off the light when my drunken husband burst in. He was a mess as usual and I had fallen out of love with him several months before because of his nasty drinking habit. Upon stumbling in, he had caught me from behind by my wrists.
"You fuckin' whore. Let me see what's under that robe." Tom had pressed his full body weight against me and had me smothered against the wall. His rancid breath wisping down my neck caused an illusory vile taste to come into my mouth.
Unfortunately, despite my laments I knew the procedure well: Tom would disregard me and proceed to force himself onto me as he did every night. He grabbed my lock of brunette hair and used his rough right hand to trace down my tummy and into my lace guard. Slipping his fingers past the waistband, he found my bald entrance. Without prelude or finesse, he began plunging his middle finger inside me. All the while, he continued controlling me through the lock of hair: he would pull me back off of the wall and slam me back against it causing his finger to maliciously pound inside of my pussy. With every violent thrust of his, I would grimace waiting on the finger to invade me further.
I held my head back with silent tears streaming down my face as I waited for the fingers to force my weak-spirited pussy to lube itself as he prepared to enter me. Getting his rotation down with his finger (the very rhythm he used on me when we were in college), my rebellious vagina started watering its mouth. I screamed out in frustration.
Tom took my hair and yanked my head back and slammed my head hard into the wall...As I felt blood coming down from my head, I started to feel his slithering penis enter me from behind. As I was invaded, my hips started to join in the mutiny that my pussy had signed onto and began pushing back against my husband; my ENFORCER. I started to audibly cry further as I lost the battle, yet again, against my asshole husband as he forced himself onto
me and my body devoured every feeling of his penis that it could...I lost consciousness...
*********
I woke up, my chest heaving wildly in the summer night. My 36 C's were glistening with moisture from the recent nightmare and redevelopment of one of my many assaults by my ex-husband. My hands were shaking incessantly and my knuckles were white with the grip I held over the satin sheets. I looked to the side to see my husband, Michael, sleeping as peacefully as ever.
He was such a sweetheart to me. In the past, during times that I couldn't deal with my forceful dominating husband, Tom, Michael would always cheer me up the next day at work. He was never forceful and would always take me out to watch the inner city's fountain pools over lunch. Although he was never my type, being a bit passive-aggressive and timid sometimes, his cordial and nice manner had been a safe haven to that of my abusive relationship with Tom.
This nightmare hadn't been the first, or probably the last, of my onslaught of night terrors replaying the incidents where Tom had come home drunk and forced me to endure his penis. I hated myself for always falling victim to the way he had man-handled me. I never once called the cops on him and it was all because of the same reason: I didn't feel an assault case would go well when I had cum on myself repeatedly from the violent behavior.
Tears began to come out of my eyes as I looked at Michael. How could a person so nice and genuine end up with a nut case such as myself? I eyed Michael pensively: he had a buff toned body, long fluid hair, and gentleness about his face. He was the perfect juxtaposition to my ex. Tom was slim and in shape, with a cropped cut and an inherit angriness/grimace about his mouth.
Finally releasing the covers within my hand, I began the all-too-familiar search for the recesses below my waist. As I traced my nimble and lithe fingers down my body I already knew what to expect: My fingers came upon a trail that disgusted me to the very core. My pussy lips were inflamed and there was residue of a creamy texture that made me want to vomit. Tom had won again. Even though I was divorced from him and away from his misogynistic brutal behavior, he was still fucking me mentally and forcing my pussy to do his bidding.
I took my hand and grabbed at the wetness, determined to wipe it all off and rub it on the sheets. I had a disobedient sadistic pussy who, even with being betrayed and invaded, decided to moisten itself just to get another dose of thick maniacal dick...
******
I couldn't be the victim anymore. It was time for a change. I had stealthily gotten out of bed and went to the bathroom to clean myself up. I wiped my tears, determined to never cry again from what Tom had done. I abandoned my "motherly" blandness of no make-up and got to fumbling with darkness. I began to don myself in dark accentuates: eyeliner and lipstick. I stared into the mirror, decidedly choosing to erase the old me. My right hand shook as I finished lining my full lips with the M.A.C lipstick. For this occasion, I needed the make-up to be as thick as my resolve...
With my sexy black robe still gracing my shoulders (the same one that Tom enjoying ripping off of me to get to my tight little pussy) and my dark look upon my face, I ripped off my bra and panties. I had to strip off the old me as much as possible; but the robe had to stay...I needed memory of my attacker, my fucker, my assaulter, my/his pulsating dick....my husband (of the past).
I traced a finger up to my lips and bathed it in my warm spittle, constantly massaging it with my tongue. My finger completely subdued by my saliva, I brought it to my left breast and circled the areola with an ever-evolving trance...I had begun to tame an inner me as I learned to control my bodily responses.
I was now ready...
******
As I walked down the dark hallways of the household I felt myself feeling as another person. How could I hold back excitement? I was going to get to do what most female victims could not: Make my aggressor suffer by my own hands...
I opened the bedroom door, making sure to be smooth as to not awake the squeaky hinges. Receiving just enough moonlight from the window, I laid my eyes upon my target restfully asleep in the double-sized bed. It was what I expected...
A very thin chest, unpopulated by any hair was rising up and down. The unmistakable snarl on the face almost made me want to curse out loud. I inspected the male specimen closely as I became jealous at the peaceful sleep he was achieving while I had lain many nights awake and tortured by Tom's fucked up behavior.
I strode over to the bed, taking my gentle hands and running them through the short-cropped hair of this low-life. The name attributed to this bulk of male: Jake. I shook my head, almost apologetically. It was unfortunate that Jake had resembled Tom in so many ways. From the slim build to the short hair, all the way to the naturally inset frown upon the face; Jake, Michael's son from his first marriage, had an eerily close resemblance to Tom. Jake/Tom had to pay the price for repeatedly fucking me again and again throughout all the torturous nights. It was not okay to forcefully take my pussy and make it cum over an uninvited dick.
As I stared down at Jake, my body started to respond with demonic fervor. Excitement had finally reached me knowing that I held power, finally. I reached my right hand down to my stepson's left cheek, stroking it lovingly. After all, this was my stepson whom I loved. I traced my thumb over the lips to outline the snarl as best as I could. The shape of the natural frown pattern was exactly like Tom's. I reached into my robe finding my bald lips and tracing them. This fucker was going to pay, indeed.
