There shouldn’t have been any hesitation or contemplation of what he was to do next. It was simple: go to work or stay, it was “Caveman 101”—he should’ve strode forward, cast away his briefcase and the noose around his neck and claimed me.
I imagined him rock-hard in an instant, spinning me around against the sink cabinet while at the same time pulling my panties down and removing himself from his trousers.
His cock would spear me from behind. He’d be gentle but full of passion. My tits would bounce as he thrust into me. And he’d hold me like he used to.
We’d be OK again.
We’d come together, and we’d be OK.
But it was just a fantasy. He hardly ever looked at me, and even now his gaze barely registered the slight damp spot at my crotch.
Eric’s temples pulsed and he shook his head. “I gotta go,” he stuttered, then more forcefully, with a sneer, “Sara, cover yourself up.”
He retreated down the hallway without another glance.
I blew out a breath. The wind had truly been knocked out from my sails; my bosom deflated as I hastily wrapped myself back up. Shame. Disgust. Words such as those spun themselves around in my mind as tiny pinpricks at the corners of my eyes threatened to undo me.
My hands roamed over the dishes and utensils, my fingers scrubbed and washed as tiny rivulets of water droplets landed on the face of the plates. My mind wandered off as I continued to wash and dry. How had it all gone so wrong? Did I allow this to happen to us? When did we become so plain?
During my three years of marriage with Eric, I had done nothing but stay at home, looking after him, and with his reluctant permission I was able to volunteer at the animal shelter in the local town. With his job we could afford for me not to work, though I do wonder sometimes what would happen if money were tight or if I broached the subject about getting a paid part or full-time job. I couldn’t see Eric going for it. It would be nice to be able to buy things for myself without having to worry what he would think all the time. My own little stash of cash that I could do with what I pleased.
But he’d be livid if I went behind his back and sought out a paid position. My college degree was wasted on washing and ironing his shirts; I was worth so much more than this, I thought. But he preferred being the one to bring in the money, old-fashioned nonsense, being in control and the power that having all the purse strings gave him.
I frowned as the front door slammed.
“Eric? Is that you? Did you forget something?”
Footsteps echoed down the hall, coming closer.
“I thought I told you to cover yourself up! Why are you still in your dressing gown?” I turned to look at him over my shoulder. His face was a nasty shade of red, bull-like and angry.
“I… I thought to get the pots done before taking a shower.” I swallowed the fear that was rising in my throat. I knew better to talk back to him, but he had to see reason.
He was across the room in seconds, his fingers in my dirty blonde hair, entangling themselves and pulling me back. Pain shot through my skull as he yanked at the strands and spun me around, practically throwing me against the dining table. “You think it’s appropriate for you to be sauntering around half-naked like this?”
My jaw locked preventing me from responding. Don’t answer him back, it’ll only make him madder, I thought, knowing from previous experience that keeping quiet was the best way to handle these situations. He’d soon run out of steam. But today was different. He was different.
“Answer me!” he roared as he twisted my arm around my back, threatening to pop it out of its socket. He pressed me hard against the table, and I cried out in agony.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted, wanting him to let me go, for him to be anywhere but here and eager to say anything to stop the excruciating pain in my arm.
“Sorry? Is that all you have to say to me? Isn’t this what you wanted? Eh?” Eric let go of my arm, the ache in my shoulder gratefully subsiding. Believing it was all over, I braced my hand against the table, ready to get back up, but his fingers were still in my hair, not showing any sign of letting go.
His free hand quickly found its way beneath my robe, rough fingers skirting my tense thighs. Then all of sudden he ripped my panties away to the side, the cotton digging into my flesh.
“Eric, stop. Please, you’re hurting me.”
But he wouldn’t. He held my hair tight, and I was unable to move. He ignored my cries and my desperate attempts to squirm away. My screams grew louder as he yanked the tendrils of hair back and forth, as he kept me at his mercy.
“This what you want, you fucking slut? Think you can swan around here like a fucking cocktease for anyone to see?”