But she was too weak now to fight her husband and cling to that spark of excitement that burned around the base of her clit. She felt him roll her over, felt him shove her legs wide. Then he grabbed her wrists and bent them back over her head savagely. His big cock went so deep that the mouth of her womb ached with a sudden sharpness. Margaret cried out, felt the tingle of joy slipping away as her husband thrust brutally into her hot wound. He couldn't have fucked her more than four times when he gave a growl and bit the flesh of her shoulder like a starving wolf.
"Ohhh, Mitch. Uhhhhhh! Ghhhuuuhhhh! Mitch! I'm so close!"
"Baby, baby," he groaned, his fingers hurting her flesh. She struggled, tried to get her arms loose. It was futile. She was the one on the bottom. The raped victim whose pleasure came second to her abductor. Already she felt the remaining bit of pleasure slipping from her gasp. Her clit was still tight and hot but seemed to hang in a limbo of tortured timelessness. And Mitch was coming. She could feel the surges through the base of his cock as his frothing cream filled her. It wasn't the most dangerous time of the month but it was dangerous enough. Margaret felt like crying. She was helpless to do anything about it now.
"Ohhh, yeah, baby!" He held her in his animal arms and fucked his cream into her pussy until she wanted to scream. Why did that final moment of pleasure always escape her. When Mitch was on top she wanted to sob with frustration. He changed whenever he rolled her over. He was horrible now, rutting her like she was just a hole he owned for his own pleasure.
"If you're through would you please get up?" she said, voice trembling. She didn't want to cry, didn't want him to know how hurt she felt. Hell, he wouldn't care anyway. He knew all along how she felt. He enjoyed it. Because she couldn't find pleasure only increased his own. She hated the lousy sonofabitch.
Mitch was on his knees now, his big cock dripping shimmering strings of jizz. She felt the stuff ooze from her pussy to wet the sheet. He gave her a glance and strode from the room quickly. She heard the water running in the bath, heard him humming. Margaret wondered about the women who carried little pistols. Pearl-handled pistols. She wondered if she would ever have the nerve to point one of those pretty little things at her husband and pull the trigger. It made her feel good just to imagine it. Though she knew she wasn't really a murderess. She wiped the tears from her eyes and swung her legs off the bed. She went to the closed door of the bathroom.
"Would you mind handing me that little plastic squeeze thing over by the sink," she called.
"What for?" Mitch called back.
"It's spermacide," she said, voice breaking. "I'd prefer not to have another child just now. That is if you don't mind." The door opened a crack and Mitch stuck the bottle at her.
"Hell, no, I always say that a woman's body belongs to her. It's your business what you do with it." The door closed again.
Margaret didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She went back across the room, put a towel on the bed, and sat on the mattress. There were two glossy streaks down her thighs. At least those little tadpoles wouldn't get in to make trouble. She fitted the long douche nozzle onto the bottle and eased it between her outer cunt lips. It slid into her pussy easily and she pushed it as deep as the neck would let her. There was a tingle of excitement as she accidentally brushed her clit. She pushed the nozzle in and out a few times, pretending she was still getting fucked. Then she squeezed the plastic as hard as she could and felt the liquid squirt against her soft insides. Only then did Margaret start to cry.
It was too early to start drinking. Margaret poured herself a drink anyway. She was alone except for Alice's brother, Billy. Mitch had taken Lee and Betty and the slender blonde into town to a movie. Margaret hadn't felt like going in to the boutique today. She felt like hell actually. She dropped a cube of ice into her whiskey and wondered why Billy had decided to stay home. Nice kid. Both of them. Well, there was a certain coyness about Alice that could irritate. But considering how her sister had raised the children, Margaret was astonished that they'd turned out at all. Billy was a little gentleman. Most nineteen year-olds were a little wild at best, criminally insane at worst. The only deviation she'd seen in Betty's behavior was a longing look he'd given to her own daughter. And Margaret certainly couldn't blame her nephew for a little honest lust. After all, Betty was a quite striking girl. But at twenty-one she was a little old for poor Billy. Margaret wasn't even sure if Betty had noticed her tall, blonde cousin.
Jingling her ice, Margaret crossed the living room and looked out the window towards the lake and the island beyond. She took a few swallows and waited for the alcohol to do its thing. She might take the boat out in the lake that afternoon. Or she might go for a swim. But then she burned so badly in the sun. In the back of her mind nestled the activity that she really wanted to engage in. It had to do with her vibrator. Tired as she was of using it for some kind of satisfaction it seemed to always come down to that. And she could make it as enjoyable as she knew how. Like running through the house naked, teasing herself with the thing until at last she would slump exhausted across the big divan and plunge the ivory shaft in and out of her body until the shivering release of exploding passion filled her to overflowing. Margaret jingled her ice cubes, frowned. She'd forgotten about Billy for a moment. She couldn't very well go running through the house in her birthday suit with him on the premises.
But there was the privacy of her own room. She could strip down and enjoy herself for hours. She sipped mote whiskey. Wasn't she really some kind of dope? Why didn't she have a lover in town? She was certainly attractive enough. And it would be so easy. But there was something about an affair. Margaret had shied away from the image of a frustrated wife looking for cheap thrills, with some local stud. She wondered if it wouldn't eventually lead to something like she had at home. Men were so stuck on themselves, and she knew how some guy would feel taking care of her in the bed of a nameless motel out on the highway. He'd probably end up a worse bore than Mitch.
For no special reason her thoughts strayed to her nephew again. He was still in his room she thought. She put her whiskey glass down and walked idly around the room. She knew that soon she would go upstairs and close her bedroom door and undress slowly. Then she would use the vibrator. But it was fun drawing it out. Maybe she would do something different this time. The booze had loosened her up just enough to think unthinkable thoughts.
Margaret was thinking about asking Billy if he would like to share a drink with her. But that was ridiculous. The kid probably didn't even drink. But at nineteen he surely would have had some experience with alcohol, wouldn't he? She remembered their conversation of a few days before. Billy liked sports, liked cars, and liked the usual things teenagers liked. He'd been to college two years and wanted to continue. She and Mitch would see to it that his education continued of course. But God she was getting a little worked up just remembering the way his blond hair curled over his collar and ears. The way he smiled. For a shocking few seconds Margaret found herself wondering what he looked like without his clothes.
"Jesus, I'd better pour myself another drink," she gasped, hurrying towards the liquor cabinet.
Her hand shook as she tilted the bottle. But she stopped before the amber liquid touched her glass. She was thinking that forbidden thought again. Billy's body. It would be lanky and muscular and very white. He had a light complexion like hers. And the hair around his cock would be blond and frizzy.
"I'd better get myself together," she hissed, pouring four fingers of whiskey and spilling two more on the counter. She drank half of it down quickly. But the booze only seemed to make things worse.