Should Have Listened

Should Have Listened

It was into the third quarter now in a tied ball game; the ball was on the 25-yard line and the good guys were on the move. Brent had twenty bucks on this game, the outcome taking the winner to the playoffs and possibly beyond. One small inconvenience continued to bore into his psychic like a sharp pebble in his jogging shoes - it was his beloved wife of 26-years who had chosen the occasion to vent some of her menopausal frustrations. Despite his acknowledgments and gentle reproaches, the tone of her voice had steadily gained vindictiveness and volume. Brent was about to give up on the game when she suddenly rose and stormed out of the family room, leaving Brent in peace and the opposing team in a defensive quandary.

There was barely time to acknowledge her return when the first of several blows resounded through the still air as she let loose with the cast iron skillet on the back of his head. The second blow introduced Brent to a galaxy of stars and the third sent him into oblivion. He awoke sometime latter with the game long over, his sweats in a pile in the corner, and his legs tightly bound together forcing his genitals to lay fully exposed atop his groin. His legs and arms were bound to the bed that he had never really liked anyway, and his mouth was stuffed with a foul smelling nylon rag. His wife was completely naked with her oversized breasts dangling grotesquely and the folds of her neglected mid-section jiggling with her every step. She stood over him menacingly with a small leather belt adorned with snaps quivering in her right hand.

“I should have listened to my Mother, you worthless deviant,” she began vehemently. Brent had never seen her so angry before, and fear began to climb up the back of his neck in a cold chill as her dehumanizing oration continued. “All my life I’ve devoted to you; bore you two fine offspring, cleaned your house, made your meals, took menial jobs to supplement your meager earnings, gave of myself freely only to have you treat me as your slave. Where is all the romance you promised me, the flowers, the trips abroad, the candlelight dinners and the erotic nights in white satin? What, do you think five seconds of tongue treatment is foreplay, you fat slob, Where are my feelings and where is my life?”

Brent had plenty of answers but the gag didn’t lend itself to explanations as she lifted the belt high into the air and brought it down on his balls forcefully. It stung like a thousand bee stings and he felt as if he would loose all the chips he’d consumed during the first half when the belt clasp came down again firmly midway down his shaft, tearing a small piece of flesh from the underside of his cock and leaving a red welt across his abdomen. The third swipe tore his ball sack open as the remains of his beer flowed from his rapidly shriveling cock onto his heaving belly. His wife continued to blurt out slurred damnation as the fourth lash tore across the head of his cock, partially severing the sensitive meat while spraying piss all over the two of them. It was more than either one of them could endure, and as Brent slipped away into peaceful bliss, his wife leapt astride the bloody remains of his manhood and frigged herself into a serious of orgasms that left her exhausted. Just beyond the doorway, Evie, their gum-chewing parent-hating daughter, was calling 911 with trembling fingers, as her free hand slipped into her jeans to frig her painfully engorged clitoris. The dog humped her leg unmercifully.

When the law enforcement officials finally arrived, they beheld a young girl near collapse in the hallway with the family dog lying on her leg with it’s tongue hanging out in exhaustion. Just beyond, they found an exhausted middle-aged women bawling uncontrollably atop the unconscious carcass of her sexually tormented spouse. Down the hall the remaining male family member continued to battle extraterrestrial beingson his computer, oblivious to the emasculation that had so violently occurred just a few yards away. The wife was quickly hustled off in a police cruiser amidst pointed questions she vaguely and tearfully answered, as was the daughter who was more concerned with the scum the dog had left on her leg than the erotic torture of dear old Dad.

Brent lay there as the EMT’s gingerly untied his extremities, mumbling and giggling amongst themselves. The two remaining cops gathered his clothes, the blood-stained belt and several other items from the dresser, before shaking their head at one another at the scene they had just witnessed. As the male cop started down the stairs, his female counterpart turned for a final look at Brent’s bloody crotch.

“‘ll bet he asked her for it,” she murmured as they both headed down the stairs and into the sea of onlookers that had gathered to gossip. None of them really ever listened either.