Fooled Me Twice Pt. 06

"Uh-huh."

"Strip out here and wait for me to say I'm ready. You must use everything I laid on the bed and my dresser. You have to come inside my womb twice, but no time limit. We can play until I say the safeword, or you get too tired and say, uncle."

With a quick peck on my lips, Liz floated away into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. I tossed my clothes all over the living room, reminiscent of that day we visited the BDSM café, and Liz spread her clothes all over my living room.

I paced back and forth, walked down the hall to the bedroom door, turned around, and walked back to the living room.

It felt like an hour had passed, even though it was probably less than twenty minutes, when Liz called out to me, "Master, your slave awaits her punishment."

I burst through the doorway, only remembering to turn the doorknob at the last minute.

Liz wore stay-up black stockings and 5-inch heels as she lay on her back in the center of the bed. She was holding a riding crop between her teeth while two fingers of her right hand were buried in her pussy, savagely thrusting in and out. She was pinching her left nipple with her other hand, and written on her belly with red lipstick were the words 'Bad girlz must be whipped.'

I took my necktie off her dresser before jumping on the bed between her legs. Then, pulling her hands together, I lightly tied her wrists together and pushed her hands above her head, warning, "Keep them above your head, or else."

After pulling her right leg over my shoulder, I buried my stiff prick in her pussy, then pushed her left thigh against her chest and gently held that foot with my right hand as my left hand stroked the back of her calf. I pressed my lips against the side of her strappy red pump, and the odor of patent leather sent shivers up my spine. She whimpered like a baby kitten as I made love to her leg with my lips, tongue, and fingertips.

My cock was still buried in her flooded vagina, and although not moving, I could feel her pussy squeezing me, trying to goad me into fucking her. She succeeded as I placed her left leg over my shoulder, took the crop out of her mouth with my right hand, and started thrusting into her cunt. Holding the riding crop at the middle of the shaft, I began lightly slapping the underside of both arms, tied together and still lying above her head. I tapped the end of the crop across her nipples and the rest of her tits.

When I started on the side of her butt cheek, she cried out, "Harder, hurt me. Beat me, make me bleed."

I froze, not able to comprehend what I was hearing.

"What's the matter with you? You wanted to whip me, so do it. Beat me like the cunt I've become. Punish me, or are you a pussy?"

I cut her off by screaming, "ENOUGH," then broke the crop in half and threw it at the wall before pulling out and stumbling toward the bedroom door. Liz tackled me, crying, "No, no, no, no, no. Don't leave, I'm sorry. Please, Marty, don't leave me."

She held on until I quit struggling, then pulled me back to bed, laying me down with my head in her lap as I sobbed, "You promised, we promised, we swore we wouldn't hurt each other anymore."

Liz laid me on my back and disappeared for a moment before returning with a sleeping pill and some water for me. When I was almost asleep, I felt her get up, but I fell asleep.

I dreamed of being in the dark, feeling panicked and running around in the darkness, unable to see anything.

I woke up and was still lying on my back, but a blanket covered me. I rolled over, but Liz wasn't in bed with me. The clock showed 4:05, and I searched the house, but she was missing. Her SUV was gone, so I got a blanket and pillow from my bedroom and curled up on the couch to wait for her return.

I must have dozed off because sunlight was sneaking through the window as the front door opened. Liz came in, dressed in jeans and a blouse, ran toward me as tears poured from her eyes, and plastered her body to mine.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Marty. I wasn't honest with you when we decided not to explore BDSM anymore. I enjoyed the pain, I really did, but I forgot that we were a team and you didn't enjoy it at all. I just got caught up; I don't know, I wasn't thinking clearly, wasn't thinking at all. Life is passing by so quickly; high school, stepparents dying, college, meeting you, falling in love, getting married, fantastic honeymoon, building a house, getting pregnant. I just, I mean, sometimes I get; I don't know, but what I do know, Marty, is I love you, and I want to have lots of babies with you, and I can't live without you."

Okay, okay. So I'm a softy. We went back to bed and slept till noon before making up.

*****

After the holidays, I buried myself at work, and Liz ramped up her housebuilding project and added a furnishing project to the mix. Then, in mid-January, we had snow one evening, but it didn't stick.

When I arrived home on January 24^th, Liz was pacing around the living room.

"What's going on, Liz? You look nervous."

"I missed my period last week. So I went to my doctor this morning instead of the house. He examined me. He ran a test. Marty, I'm pregnant."

I held my arms out, and my wife ran to me. I picked her up and spun her around; we're going to have a baby.

"I love you, Liz."

*****

It was the middle of March, and the three Steven's amigos were in Uncle Bob's SUV driving up I-95 to Bethesda, Maryland. We checked into our hotel before going out to dinner with Dad's insider trading friend. Dad and Elon's stories had Uncle Bob and me falling out of our chairs with laughter. After we returned to our rooms, I'm sure Dad and Uncle Bob went straight to bed, but I set up writing hypothetical questions in my new notebook and then answering every question.

The symposium started after a buffet breakfast was served, and Lockheed Martin's top engineer was the event host. It was apparent right off the bat that NASA was trying to block everything that took away any of their glory. Almost everyone was sitting quietly, trying to stay awake, when the head of NASA put his foot in his mouth.

"In my opinion, which is the opinion of many of our supporters in Congress, NASA should be in charge of any venture into space, by any private or public, company or corporation, residing in the United States. Therefore, one of our sponsors in the house and Senate will be introducing...."

My uncle jumped up, "Now, hold on just a minute. NASA relies on private companies to get their satellites and astronauts into space. Let's go in the opposite direction. How about if my friends in this room start poaching all the astronauts, engineers, and technicians working for NASA who are worth a shit."

"Now, just one minute, I resent...."

"The gentleman from NASA is interrupting Mr. Stevens, and if he doesn't sit down, they can fly their astronauts to the ISS on an ICBM."

It got real quiet quick; they're scared of Elon.

"Thank you, my friend. We could hold job fairs in Texas, California, and Florida to interview the ones who can't wait to retire so they can escape the boredom of training and nothing else. Take away their people, and NASA becomes a chapter in the history books. As for Senators dumb and dumber, who have a lot of NASA facilities in their state; they'll have to worry about feeding the hungry, fixing the roads, and cleaning up the air and water in their fine state that can't keep the electricity turned on in the winter."

Way to go, Uncle Bob.

As he sat down, my dad smacked him on his back as my uncle said, "Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into, Marty."

Me! I was minding my own business.

As I sat down, the NASA guy fell back in his chair, clutching his chest, and the politicians were screaming for an investigation. The yelling and finger-pointing continued until lunchtime, and a steady stream of people walked up to my uncle, slapping on the back or shaking his hand.

There were a lot of empty chairs for the afternoon session that were filled in the morning session by the thirty-man delegation from NASA and twelve members of Congress. The only members of Congress still in attendance were from Maryland and Virginia.

The host reconvened the conference at 1 PM and started with a couple of jokes before getting serious, "Now I've known Bob Stevens a long time, and I'm sure his remarks were not intended to offend the gentleman from NASA. Bob spoke the truth; there are serious problems with NASA and the United States government trying to control who gets to go into space, and once we get there, what should they allow the private sector to do. His nephew Marty has written a controversial paper about the future of crewed and crewless space exploration, and I'd like to ask him to come up and say a few words to start the discussion."

So here I go, poor humble Marty getting up to speak to geniuses far beyond his mental capacities; bump that, I wouldn't hire half the people in this room to clean my bathroom. So let's jump in with both feet.

"Good afternoon. Before I wrote that paper, I spent a lot of time thinking before writing, and the one inescapable fact I found was that traveling at 98% of the speed of light would take 4,243 years to reach the star closest to our solar system, Proxima Centauri. I'm not confident we'll ever be able to achieve that speed; therefore, we must agree that space exploration with a crew outside our solar system wastes time and resources. Does anyone disagree with that fact?"

There were some rumblings in the room, but no one spoke up.

"Does that mean we should send a crewless ship to Proxima Centauri? What will we gain by exploring space, as in 'there's nothing there?' Let's do something that will benefit the human race by sending a crewless craft in orbit around the sun to explore the Oort cloud. What about sending ships to explore the asteroid belt that can detect, capture, and deliver ores and minerals for processing? We may discover valuable elements that are extremely rare on earth. These are thoughts I've had since I was twelve."

Without giving anyone a chance to derail my speech, I continued.

"Now, let's look at manned exploration and colonization possibilities in our solar system. Logically, we need to establish a space base, and the moon is our closest planetary object, so it's logical we start by establishing a base, then creating facilities to smelt metal ore, and transition into making components for spaceships. Also, by building inside existing lava tubes, we have a home protected from solar flares and cosmic rays. Also, by doing this on the moon, we eliminate the tremendous cost of transporting all components from Earth into space."

I looked around the room and saw heads nodding in agreement.

"Our second exploration focus should be Mars because, after the moon, it's the next closest planetary object that we can explore. It has vast resources of iron oxide and other minerals that have been surveyed already. Finally, the third planetary object to be explored should be Jupiter's moon Callisto. It has abundant ice supplies and is not bombarded with deadly radiation from Jupiter, unlike the other three Galilean moons orbiting much closer to their planet. Callisto is the perfect moon to set up an array of telescopes to scan the solar system for comets and asteroids that may pose a danger to Earth and Mars. Let's focus on things we can do to protect our planet from another mass extinction."

People in the room looked excited and were ready to jump on a spaceship and head for the moon today.

"These three planetary objects should keep us busy for the next seventy-five years, and that's why I called out NASA and the government in my paper. They don't understand facts, and they don't think logically. So why deal with them at all? Look at the guest list today. Besides Lockheed Martin, Space-X, and my family's company Stevens A&D, I see people from Boeing, Northrop Grumman, Sierra Nevada Corporation, Blue Origin, Australian Space Research Institute, and fifteen or twenty other companies scattered around the world, all trying to reach a common goal, explore our neighborhood in space for the benefit of the human race. Together, we can make this happen, independent of NASA and the government."

After that, we had some healthy discussions before leaving the conference, and Elon came up and hugged me and offered me a job again.

*****

On a rainy day in September, Catherine Colleen Stevens arrived in our lives, kicking and screaming. Liz was unable to produce milk, so we fed her formula. Once we got our baby home, Liz began working out at a local gym while my mom watched her. Liz's mood, well, it went downhill fast. She appeared to be going through Post-Partum Depression that started when she got home from the hospital. She barely spoke to me at all, and when I got home, she put the baby in my hands and went to bed. I was delighted and didn't mind feeding, changing, and bathing my little bundle of joy.

After about three weeks, Liz stopped going to bed, and I thought she was working her way out of her depression, but she started sniping at me, making smart-ass remarks about spoiling the baby and ignoring her. So I got a babysitter, my momma, for the following Saturday night and took Liz out for dinner and dancing. That evening ended early because Liz flirted with every man who spoke to her, ring or no ring, and on the drive home, Liz was screaming at me, accusing me of trying to embarrass her because she was fat. I watched her weigh herself when she was dressing, and she was only five pounds over her pre-pregnancy weight, and I couldn't tell where it was hiding.

Then, in November, her mood reversed one hundred and eighty degrees, and for three weeks, Liz was happy and loving and would hardly let me touch my baby at all. At night, our sex life was rekindled, and we were in love again.

Then the fourth week arrived, and after the second day of that week, I left home early, worked late, and even went in on Saturday. Liz acted like a raving lunatic when we were alone and sweet and loving when in the presence of others. I thought she was having an awful period, and when she became loving again, that convinced me that it had something to do with her period.

Three weeks of a loving and happy Liz and one week with the 'wicked witch of the west' happen twice more until the witch came to stay in late January. On Christmas Day at mom's house, she was reticent, and later in the day, I tried to talk to my mom about Liz's moods, and Mom was very cold to me.

I thought I had already seen the worst, but February and March almost convinced me to buy a gun and go into the mountains and end it all. Liz made me sleep in the guest bedroom, cut me off from sex with her, and said maybe ten words a day to me. Every Wednesday, as I walked through the door, Liz handed me Cat, and decked out in a slut costume, jumped in the Corvette she made me buy her and went partying with her two friends, the strippers.

Now how did I know that? Because Liz once told me the girls were off on Wednesdays.

I confronted her in late March, and that went south after I asked for a divorce. I offered her the house and everything I had in the bank, and she laughed in my face. Liz told me if I tried, I'd never see Cat again. She informed me about her new friends with police records who would slit my throat for a night of sex. I never said that word to her again.

I was seriously depressed by now, and people at work were noticing, including Dad and Uncle Bob. On the other hand, Mom barely spoke to me at all, while she and Liz were thick as thieves together.

Everything came to a head on a rainy Friday night in mid-April.

I worked late again, and it had been dark for an hour when I pulled into my driveway. I was not looking forward to another weekend of screaming and yelling. As I got out of my car, I noticed a police car parked in front of my house. Good old observant Marty, I didn't see it sitting there when I parked.

As I walked into our mudroom leading into the kitchen, I heard voices coming from the living room. I hung up my coat, walked in, and saw Liz sitting on the couch, holding the baby while two police officers from the city of Greenville stood next to her.

"What's going on? Why are the police here, Liz?"

The officers turned to face me, a female Sgt. to my left and a young man to my right.

"Is this your husband, Mrs. Stevens?"

"Yes, that's him. He's the one who hit me."

Time stopped for me, and as Liz turned her head to address the Sergeant, I could see a bruise on her left cheek. The two officers stepped toward me, and the one to my right said something as they pulled my hands behind my back and handcuffed me. I became a little more aware of my surroundings when the police car hit a pothole in the road, and I realized I was handcuffed.

They pulled me out of the back seat and walked me into the police station, stopping at a counter with an open glass window. They emptied my pockets, laying everything on the counter in front of me, and a deep voice spoke slowly, "ISSS THISSS ALLLL OFFF YOURRR BEEELONGGGINGSSS?"

I just stood there in a daze until they marched me into a room with a plaque on the door that read 'INTERROGATION 1.'

The officer put me in a chair, uncuffed me, and handcuffed me to cuffs attached to a metal ring bolted to a metal table. Then they left me alone.

'Yes, that's him. He's the one who hit me.'

That's what Liz said, and she had a bruise on her cheek. But it wasn't there when I went to work, and I was at work all day, and I know I was at work because we had meetings and phone calls, and Carmen knows I was there late.

'He's the one who hit me.'

Why did my wife tell the police I hit her?

Eventually, I got tired of thinking and just stared at the light switch on the wall. At some point, minutes or hours later, the door opened, and a guy in a suit came in with a uniformed officer and started talking.

"My name is Detective Toler, and you're under arrest for Domestic Violence. You have wah, wah, wah."

I think he read me my rights, but I needed to know when did I hit her?

"When did this violence take place; what time today? She was fine when I left for work this morning, and the police officers were in the house when I got home at eight."

"Your wife called 911 at 7:05 and told the dispatcher that you hit her and left, less than five minutes before she called. Now, why don't you write a confession, and we can get you bonded out in time to get a hotel room?"

"I was still at work until seven thirty-five and was with two other employees in my office."

I gave him both names and their cell numbers, and he left me alone with the officer. Fifteen minutes later, he returned with an angry look on his face. "No answer from either of them, smart ass. Now quit wasting my time and write a confession, and we can both get out of here."

I just stared at him because I knew that sooner or later, they would talk to Carmen and Viktor. "I am exercising my right to remain silent. I do not want an attorney because I never hit my wife, and the safest place for me to be is locked up in the police station."

He started yelling and banging his fist on the table, and I just stared at him. I guess he got tired, and he left. Shortly after that, two more guys in suits came and sat down facing me. The older guy on my left started talking loudly while the younger guy had a legal pad in front of him.

"My name is Lieut. Collier, and this is Detective Franks, Mr. Stevens."

"Call me Marty."

"You invoked your right to not speak to us but didn't want a lawyer. Would you like to tell me what's happening in your life?"

And since he asked nicely, I signed the waiver and told him about my day, working late with Carmen and Viktor, coming home to find the police in my living room, and hearing my wife accuse me of hitting her. Then I told the Lieutenant about my wife and her moods since my baby was born, and the detective stayed busy writing things down. I gave them the names and numbers for my alibi and my parents' information. Then I answered why I would be safer locked in jail than free in a hotel room.