Gambling, Sex and Alcohol Ch. 02

Marshal awoke with a long, drawn out sigh, cringing at the thought of living yet another day in paradise. His vision was blurred, his memory from last night still groggy, and the pains in his head made him question if life was really worth living. After stumbling around confused for a few moments, he made his way to the sink and began splashing cold water onto his face. Clarity arriving too slowly for his liking, he stepped out of his room. Looking around in horror, he couldn't help but second guess reality and all that he thought he knew. His usual surroundings had virtually vanished; gone was the dirty laundry, empty liquor bottles and random piles of rubbish. He also detected a lemon scented aroma and could almost hear a faint echo which, if he hadn't known any better, might have faintly resembled a dish washer or laundry machine. Wondering if he hadn't been cursed somehow, he cautiously made his way to the fridge and grabbed his wake-up beer. Then, kicking himself for being unarmed during the time of uncertainty and swearing that there had to be somebody nearby, he made a heroic leap into the next room.

"You!" he cried out accusingly. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Oh, hi Marshal. I'm so glad you're finally awake."

He couldn't help but stare at the young woman in amazement; standing in awe for a few moments and not knowing what to think, he slowly took a seat. Then, wondering if he wasn't somehow in a dream, he started to drink, fully convinced that the world would make more sense afterwards.

Marshal stared at the woman blankly as if expecting an explanation.

"Do you really have no idea what happened last night?" she asked.

The question struck Marshall as an odd one. "Of course I do," he sneered. "I... I..." Marshal was at a loss for words as he tried to figure out what he had done the previous night.

"Well regardless, after waking up in the morning and studying my surroundings, I was appalled that a human being could descend to such degeneracy. I couldn't help but pity you, and did what I could to help out during the time when you were out cold."

Marshal sighed as he looked around and contemplated recent events, cursing when he realized that a vase filled with flowers had managed to replace his lucky bottle of Jameson.

"Listen. I don't know who you are or what you think we've done, but after I get my apology I think that it would be best for both of us if you left," he told her with conviction.

"An apology?" she asked as if not knowing what he was getting at.

"For altering what was once considered a perfect home prior to your unwelcome intrusion. When I've done nothing to upset you yet you still insist on going out of your way to make my life misera-"

Marshal halted briefly as she stepped into the kitchen. "Hey, where do you think you're going?" he fumed while mildly upset that she cared so little about what he had to say. "I'm talking to you!"

It wasn't long before the woman returned with a beer in hand. "Sorry," she told him meekly as she opened the bottle and handed it to him. "I saw that you finished your drink and thought that you might want another one."

"Oh, right," he said not knowing how to respond. "Anyways, where was I?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you were upset about something and wanted to rant about it?"

"Of course! Like I was saying, we need to have a talk about boundaries. You just don't go into a guys house and move everything around. All things considering, I must insist that you leave right now so I can try to fix all that you've ruined."

"Oh, marshal," she sighed. "Do you mind holding that thought for a moment? I know it's crazy, but for some reason this is really starting to irritate me."

"What is?" Marshal asked, more than a bit confused.

The woman turned around and got on her knees.

"This stain on the carpet. No matter what I do it just won't go away!" she wailed as she began scrubbing the floor furiously.

Marshal was amazed that the the woman considered the discolored carpet something important enough to warrant her time and effort. Not knowing the protocol for the situation, he did what he normally did - sat back with a drink while contemplating the world around him. And strangely enough, more and more he found his gaze linger on the woman before him; and despite himself, formally acknowledged that he found her presence to be immensely irritating. He wasn't able to put his finger on it, but for whatever reason he wasn't able to divert his attention to anything else. He couldn't help but notice the sizable cleavage that bobbled back and forth as she worked, and was soon transfixed by their forward and back motion. The low cut shirt she wore barely covered herself, and with every forward thrust she made with her arms he thought for sure that she would expose herself completely. His irritation continued to increase, and more and more he began to see the small, curvy frame before him as a pleading, irresistible invitation of sorts.

Her name, her words, her desires, her family, the type of life she led, the reason for her being there - none of it phased him in the slightest as he considered all the great and uplifting things he could do, and it wasn't long before his wondering thoughts got the better of him. Intoxicated and unable to restrain himself, he got up and pushed her forcibly to the ground. Using his weight he pinned her so that she was underneath him and couldn't escape. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he quickly pulled down her shirt and marveled at the glory which lied beneath. Not thinking about anything else, he fondled her breasts to his hearts content, and was positively delighted to note that her nipples hardened considerably in response to his touch.

Almost immediately she started to struggle, pushing against him wildly trying to break free. "No...!" she sobbed in between heated breaths. "Don't do this it's not want I want!" She started to whimper as he eventually pulled her skirt down and opened her legs. She begged, cried, and screamed for him to stop, but in the end her body betrayed her as her hips shamefully began moving forward to meet each of his thrusts.

***

At long last, the itch that he had had for years had finally been scratched. He didn't know what to think as she continued to lay there sobbing. Perhaps trying to compensate for something that he didn't know he felt, he wordlessly procured a wad of cash and laid it beside her. And, feeling the sudden need for cleanliness, went upstairs for a shower, half hoping that it would do him a favor and drown him. After a lengthy period he returned to the kitchen, and again found himself questioning what he once thought about reality.

"Hello, again?" he asked suspiciously, still bewildered that the woman continued to choose to remain in his house.

"Hey, it's good to have you back," she exclaimed as if nothing had happened. "After the work out you had earlier I thought you might be hungry, so I decided to make a late breakfast. I wanted to cater to all your tastes by making a little bit of everything."

Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, roasted potatoes, buttered toast, pancakes with maple syrup - it all looked very much appealing, though at the same time he could hear a voice warning him that something was very much amiss. Helpless and wondering if it'd be the last thing he ever did, he succumbed to yet another instinctive desire. And, determined to get the last words in should it come to that, added, "well if you've decided to poison me then for the love of all that's good in the world, how I hope it's something that'll be quick and painless."

"Oh, marshal," she giggled.

In all honesty Marshal couldn't remember eating so well. "Wow it's delicious," he exclaimed as the woman beamed with delight.

"Oh Jesus, what time is it?!" he asked as if suddenly remembering something.

"No need to worry," she told him while knowing why he asked. "I was afraid you might have been burdened with an unforeseen distraction, so I took the liberty of recording the game for you."

"The game?" he asked as if not certain he heard her correctly. "Manchester City vs Real Madrid clashing together for the first time in the group of death; your mind might have been elsewhere earlier but I still thought you might want to watch it."

Marshal looked at her before answering. He seemed to consider each time what sort of woman this was to whom he spoke.

"I don't know what to say," he said at last, certain that there was some type of angle that he was missing.

"You don't have to say anything. Just sit back on the couch, watch the game and let me get you another beer."

For the first time in a what seemed like ages, marshal felt wholly satisfied as he sat back with a beer in hand and watched the match up. He imagined that the champions of Spain and England gave the bookies a bit of a nightmare, as both European power houses were some of the largest spenders in the world. Though each team contained star ridden rosters, he still fancied Real Madrid as the favorites when he considered that they were at home and that Manchester City were still relatively new to European competition. All the same, after getting almost 3 to 1 on his money, he couldn't help but place an affordable wager on a Manchester victory. With out a doubt the money made the game more interesting, as part of himself died inside when Balotelli hit the wood work twice before getting booked for a careless challenge. Then, just as he began to rage over an unjustified free kick rewarded a few yards outside the box, he heard an unknown sound that gave him a short pause. Trying to ignore it he continued to watch the game, but as the sound persisted and grew louder he was eventually forced to divert his attention elsewhere.

Tracey was crying. Initially at a loss for words, he looked back and forth between the game and the crying woman, before reluctantly turning off the TV with a grimace. For the life of him he couldn't remember the last time he tried consoling another human being.

"Is there something wrong?" he finally asked. Her crying grew louder in response to the question and he reprimanded himself for being so careless.

"Sorry, don't mind me," she sobbed before continuing, "it's not like you even care."

"Okay, well is there somewhere else you can make that noise then?" he asked.

Tracey got up, sat down next to him and put her head on his lap.

"Why do I stay with you? You're mean, uncaring, abusive, and I hate it because whenever you force yourself on me I don't even feel like a person. I cry because it hurts so much, I've always said no, and yet for some reason I continue to remain here. Tell me, is there any way we could be together with out the sex? Or am I just being hopelessly naive?"

Marshal was only vaguely aware that she was even talking, as by that time all the crying had made her shirt considerably wet. Inspired, he reached down and cupped both her breasts together, taking delight in their soft warmth.

Almost immediately she tried pushing him away, a bit surprised that he still had it in him.

"You know that I'm going to have to tie you up if you keep trying to struggle," he told her.

Tracey paled considerably at the thought. "You wouldn't!" she pleaded as he pushed her to the ground and tied each of her wrists to the table.

"Okay," she said as she lay there helplessly and trying to remain calm. "I see what you meant when you said it'd be better for both of us if I left. Can you please let me go now? I promise to leave and stop bothering you."

"No need to worry," he told her reassuringly as he stripped her bare. "I'm certain you'll have plenty of time for that later."

***

The next day Marshal woke up in an uncharacteristically good mood. Invigorated with the certainty that the rest of his day was streaming with potential, he headed towards the fridge to grab a drink. Not surprised at all to see Tracey at the table with a coffee and Women's Health magazine, he took the opportunity to take the seat across from her, noting how modest dress had suddenly replaced the short skirt and low cut shirt, as if the thought of getting raped was no longer on her mind.

"Good morning! I wanted to tell you I've got an appointment with my therapist later, so there's no need to be too worried if I'm out for a few hours."

"Why are you seeing a therapist?" he asked while knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

"I'm glad you care enough to ask. The truth is that I find his insight valuable, as he his specialties lie with people who are unable to get away from abusive relationships," she told him as if she was talking about the weather. "And I want you to know, this wouldn't even be necessary if somebody didn't want to tie me up and rape me for hours."

"Oh, please," he sneered. "You can't call it rape if you were asking for it and loved every second."

"I want to pretend I didn't just hear that, but you're sick, twisted and in need of serious help if you honestly believe that. Here, I think making an appointment could actually do you a lot of good," she told him while handing him her therapists card. "And as much as I enjoy having these social debates, I should really get going if I don't want to be late," she said before leaving him to his thoughts.

He knew he wasn't attached to the woman, but at the same time he couldn't help but despise how she felt the need to make it perfectly clear that she was leaving him to spend time with another guy and for such a ridiculous reason. Smug and always thinking she had the moral high ground, he found it irritating that she acted like she was so much better than him. Thinking it was time for a lesson, he logged onto his computer and created an email which he addressed to the guy on the card. It read as follows:

Dear sir,

It is for her sake that I must inform you, in part out of moral obligation, that the woman you are about to see has an unsatisfiable fetish for sex, with anal being a strong preference. She's made a nasty habit of denying the claim and may protest vigorously if tested, so restraints may prove to be necessary. And rest assured, she's perfectly clean and will be most reluctant to make any kind of public insinuation.

Wondering if he might need further convincing, he attached some nude photos he had taken when she was bound and gagged with her legs forced apart. Then, after adding a caption that read, 'she's waiting,' sent the email while hoping her therapist would read it in time.

***

Dr. Spottersworth read the email twice while not believing a word, but soon second guessed his original assessment after studying the photos. Noting the enlarged breasts on the thin and curvy figure, he was quite certain that the woman was indeed the patient he had been seeing for the last few months, and was wholly convinced that the photos wouldn't have been in existence unless the rest of the email was true. Although he prided himself on being a professional, he couldn't deny that he had been attracted to her since they first met, and in a strange way found himself relieved that he didn't have to spend his entire life without ever being able to see what lied beneath her modest dress.

It wasn't long before his thoughts were interrupted by a knock, and he couldn't help but beam considerably as he graciously welcomed Tracey into his office. And as was the custom, Tracey helped herself to the couch as she started to rant about her various misfortunes.

Excited by what he had seen earlier, Dr. Spottersworth found it difficult to concentrate and was only vaguely aware that she was in the mood for talking.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asked at long last, more than a bit surprised that he had remained silent while she told him all about how degraded she felt whenever guys took advantage of her.

"What?" he asked. "Oh, yes of course."

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked him while thinking his heavy breathing and flushed appearance was unusual.

Hearing her ask the question made him aware of the fact that he no longer trusted himself with her. Flustered and chain bound to his code of ethics, he finally came out and said what he needed to.

"I can no longer help you. I think it's time you find a new therapist."

Thinking she had made a lot of progress with him over the months, she was more than hurt by the request.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked him while wondering what had changed.

Realizing that he wasn't going to reply and feeling that her presence was no longer welcome, she got up to leave. Then, sensing that something wasn't right and that he was suffering, she instinctively put her arms around him in what she hoped he would consider to be a consoling gesture.

Feeling her breasts pressing lightly against his own, he couldn't help himself as he felt his arms return the embrace, before quickly using the opportunity to push her snugly against him so that he could better feel their fullness. Then, as his hands on her back moved lower and lower, he firmly forced the lower half of her body towards him so that she was bound tightly and unwillingly against his growing arousal.

Not expecting the sporadic change in his behavior, she sat their stoically as if she was somewhere else and that it wasn't really what she thought. Still too surprised to speak and not fully aware of what was happening, she wasn't able to tell him to stop. It wasn't long when, as if waking up from a dream, she suddenly realized that she was completely naked with her legs wide open before him. Ashamed of her positioning, in a last ditch effort she desperately tried to push her legs together, only to learn that she had straps attached to her which prevented her from doing just that. Not knowing what else to do, she tried to cry out and tell him not to go any further, only to find some type of object covering her mouth, which in turn muffled her screams and prevented speech.

Lying there helplessly and feeling vulnerable, she felt him move his fingers inside of her. Moaning softly in response to the touch, she hated how her body responded by trying to push itself forward so that his fingers would go in deeper. Then, almost as if he was teasing her, he moved his fingers around in a circular motion, happily exploring her moistening entrance while being careful not to push them too far. She found the sensation agonizing, and in spite of herself, was ashamed of how her hips tried harder and harder to meet up against the soft pressure his fingers created.

At long last he removed his fingers as he began to position his throbbing member just outside her exposed opening. Then, just as she started to moan with relief as she felt the head of his shaft trying to make its way through, he remembered that she preferred anal.

'No, not there anywhere but there!' she desperately wanted to tell him as she realized his intentions. Shaking her head vigorously and irritated by her helplessness, she grew hysterical and started thrashing against the restraints as he positioned his fully engorged member. Shortly thereafter, as her back arched and body began to spasm, she felt herself stretch considerably to make way for the head of his shaft. Seconds seemed like hours as she felt him penetrate deeply, whimpering with each thrust and wishing desperately for release. Then, just as she started to struggle with lucidity and the darkening of her vision, she felt his fingers return to the moisture between her legs, pushing them much deeper than the first time, before moving them in and out in a quick and steady rhythm. Instinctively and with out even thinking about it, she felt her hips attempting to match the thrusts of his fingers, only to learn that that the motion enabled even deeper anal penetration. Not being able to bear the sensation, she quickly tried holding her hips still, only to find that there was nothing she could do to prevent their involuntary movement.