The Fuck

HER STORY

Through the glass of the shower cubicle, you watch your husband cleaning his teeth. God, how you fucking despised him. Married for 17 years, you are annoyed by everything he does. The way he eats his food, the way he breathes; it just pisses you right off. As the water flows over you, you close your eyes and are taken aback by just how strong your feelings have become.

It wasn't too bad when the kids were still in the house, but the youngest one left for college about two months ago. Now it is just the two of you left, rattling around your suburban house constantly tripping up over each other. Thank fuck he's still at work during the day, but you've realised, come 5.30, you are reaching for a glass of wine, the first of many, just to get you through the evening.

It wasn't always like this. You were childhood sweethearts, madly in love, couldn't keep your hands off each other. But that's another thing that's died with time. You can't remember the last time you had sex. Maybe that's why you are so annoyed, maybe it is frustration. It is that time of the month when anything could turn you on.

You reach for the shampoo and lather up your hair. Married young before you were 20, it was a rushed affair so you could walk down the aisle before you started showing. You love your kids beyond anything and wouldn't change them for the world, but you look back and think about your lost youth. While your friends were out partying and going off to college, you were stuck in the house raising a young kid. Then it was suddenly two kids.

You rinse your hair. You see your husband has finished his teeth, he bends over to rinse his mouth direct from the tap. You can't hear it over the shower, but you know he's making a big slurping noise. Why can't he use a glass like everyone else? You see him flick off his boxer shorts and almost but not quite get them in the hamper and then walk over to the bed. What a dick.

After your second kid, your memory just kind of becomes a blur of school runs, piano recitals, and shopping trips. Your husband started working late and you suppose it was around this time you lost your physical connection. Not that it was every really satisfactory. He worked late often, trying to avoid you and the kids. He said he was working hard to support the family financially, but you know it was just to keep away from the house.

You turn the shower off and let the water drip from you. God it is hot. It is the height of summer and far too warm to wear night clothes. Not that being naked in bed next to your husband will do much good. You're both good looking, you have kept your figure and you have some really nice breasts if you do say so yourself. Not that your figure every really got your husband hot and bothered. He never initiated sex. He was very sexually passive and you could go for several months without having sex and even then, you had to initiate something.

What a limped dicked pussy. You are surprised by the thought as the last of the water runs down your body between your legs and on to the shower tray. Fuck, you are getting even more frustrated. You step out but don't reach for a towel, instead you enjoy the sensation of the air drying your skin in the hot temperature. You clean your teeth. Your husband has left small specks of tooth paste on the sink. You feel your anger rising. How fucking difficult is it to wipe down after cleaning your teeth? Your eyes wander over the hamper where his boxer shorts lay next to it. Your anger bubbles up intensely.

Months, you think. It must be months since he last fucked you. Well, you could hardly call it a fucking. Lights off, silence, limited if no foreplay. A perfunctory grind in the missionary position, then roll over and go to sleep. The story of your sex life for last two decades. Not that you've ever told him how you feel. You want something more... well, you're not sure. Just a little bit more excitement would be a start. But how can you raise something like that with your husband, when he thinks exciting sex means leaving the lights on?

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Closely trimmed pubic hair, check. Smooth legs, check. Smooth pits, check. Despite your hatred for your husband, and the unsatisfying sex, you like to keep yourself tidy and an attempt to illicit some sort of sexual response. But tonight you're going to have to make something happen rather than wait for him to make a move. You are just too turned on now but it's a weird turned on, mixed with strong anger, and hatred.

You put on your best swagger and walk into the bed room. Hair wet and tussled around you. Your husband is on his work phone, tapping away. He doesn't even lift his head when you enter the room. That was it. Your anger bubbles over and overflows.

"Put your fucking boxers in the hamper. How fucking difficult is it?" Jesus, your tone even surprised yourself.

He looks up at you. Good you got his attention.

"Whatever". It was low, flat and dismissive. What a dick. He didn't even put his phone down.

"Don't you dare fucking dismiss me like that. And rinse the sink after you've cleaned your teeth. I have to clean your fucking mess up". You are starting to get red faced with the anger.

Nothing that time. Or was there. Maybe a little wry smile, maybe you saw the corner of his mouth turn up slightly. In the heat he is laid there naked, no cover or duvet over him. You look at his body. Damn you need a fucking, tonight.

"Put your fucking phone down... You pussy." You shock yourself. You've never gone this far before. Maybe it was because he was smirking at you, or was he, you already can't remember. Your husband tosses his phone onto the bed side cabinet and raises his head.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me". You're committed now. You raise a hand and point aggressively. You see his eyes wander over your breasts. "You pussy." This must bring some reaction.

"I think you need to calm down." He said. Jesus, if it is one thing that will tip an angry woman over the edge it is telling them to calm down. You start to sweat slightly.

"Calm... fucking... down! How can I be calm, when I have a limped fucking dicked husband that couldn't fuck his way out of a paper bag leaving all his shit everywhere for me to clean up" Wow. Where did that come from? You've never said anything like this before and you get the feeling lines are being crossed. God, the anger, the hatred, it was all flowing out. And with it you were getting turned on even more. Your chest reddens up and you flush.

He shakes his head at you dismissively. "Fuck off" he says as he stands up and makes for the door. He is clearly riled. "I'm sleeping on the couch. We'll talk about this tomorrow when you are calmer."

You put yourself in his way. "You're not going anywhere". Your husband stands a good foot taller than you. But never the less you stand your ground.

"Move out of my way"

"No". You give him a small shove. Shit, that wasn't supposed to happen. You've never pushed him around before.

"What the fuck?" He takes a step forward. He's getting clearly angry now. He reaches out but stops when his hands are almost on you. They are hovering just over your shoulder and you can feel the heat radiating from them. You breathe deeply staring into his eyes. Waiting to see if he touches you. After what seems like an eternity, he pulls back slightly.

"Just as I thought" You shout. "A pussy! Look at you. I'm stood here naked, and you can't even get a hard dick. You... are... a... loser!" You see his face flush. That landed alright. He turns slightly. The mention of you being naked forces him to acknowledge it. You see him draw a glace over your body. A little tremor shoot up your spine as he see him linger his stare over your pussy and breasts making you feel like you want to hurt him and fuck him all at once. You go in for more. Your head is dizzy now with the intense anger, hatred and arousal.

"You are a pathetic, sad fucker. Unless you are being told what to do, you don't have a fucking clue."

A slap suddenly comes across your face, causing your head to turn sideways. It isn't hard, but it is shocking. You gasp and raise a hand to your cheek. Jesus. He fucking hit you. You are speechless. You slowly look back towards at your husband. He is standing to his full height very close in front of you. But what you notice the most is his engorged dick pointing at you like a flag pole.

"You fucking hit me."

"Shut the fuck up, unless you want another one." Shit. He's flipped, you think. He's gone over the edge.

He grabs you by the arm and drags you to the bed and pushes you roughly down. Your face hits the mattress. Your butt is over the edge and your knees are on the floor. He keeps one hand on your arm and the other he pushes your head firmly down.

"Don't have a fucking clue, don't I?" You feel him kneel down behind you. You try and keep your knees together, but he pushes one knee between your thighs, spreading your legs. You try and force your legs shut, but he's too strong. With a rough movement he spreads your legs wide with his knees exposing your pussy. You are extremely wet. You struggle slightly but can't move. "Couldn't fuck my way out of a paper bag?"

"Don't you fucking dare" you manage to say through the mattress. You are so wet it is unbelievable. The feeling of being dominated and being forced to spread your legs was swallowing you whole. You hold your breath anticipating the imminent penetration, steeling yourself for it.

"This is what you wanted isn't it? Me taking charge?" He slowly pushes his dick inside you. You squeeze your muscles tightly trying to prevent it but his dick stretches you wide. Fuck, it is large. He must be really turned on, it feels far bigger than usual. You grunt at the feeling and close your eyes. Your stomach turns. You feel weird.

"Get the fuck off me!" you shout as his dick fully penetrates you to the hilt. He groans pleasurably and he holds himself fully inserted. You struggle more, but he tightens his grip on your arms and pushes your head further into the mattress muffling your voice. You feeling him squeezing his pelvic muscles, forcing more blood into his dick, dilating your pussy further. He starts to thrust. It is unnecessarily hard and deep. You grunt at the motion. You've never had sex doggy style, let alone being pinned down and forced. You despise your husband, but desperately want a fucking. You relax slightly, start to submit, and let it happen.

"I thought you wanted to be fucked?" He says. He thrusts violently forward. "Say you want to be fucked." You yelp through the mattress at the harshness of both his voice and the power of his dick inside of you. He thrusts again and pulls back on your wet hair bringing your face off the mattress. "Say it!"

You are fully submitted. To be used as he sees fit. "I want to be fucked." You manage meekly. You feel embarrassed, dirty and angry all at once. Your stomach twists at the humiliation and you feel the longing to be used. To be abused.

"Shout it. Shout that you want to be fucked... hard".

You don't respond. You feel so degraded, so humiliated. Being fucked is one thing, but there's no way you are going to shout that out. Then suddenly your backside erupts in fire as a sharp slap lands on your butt cheek. "Owww, fuck" You scream.

He thrusts deep and leans over you pinning you down with his body, you can feel his breath on your ear. "If you don't want another one, you better do what the fuck I tell you" he whispers gently in your ear. That fucking did it. Your stomach does a full somersault and you lose control. You want him to use you, to ruin you, to destroy you. Your entire existence narrows to serving your man and his dick.

He leans back and starts to rapidly thrust in an out. You start to grind, and move in time with the thrusts. You move back violently to ram into his upstrokes, feeling his dick pushing deeper inside of you. Your pussy is so wet the juices run copiously down your leg. His dick starts to rub up on the right spot in your pussy. Your head starts to swim and you feel the pressure building.

"Shout it. Shout that you want to be fucked." Just as you open your mouth to scream the words, he adds. "Like the whore that you are".

You feel stung. You say nothing. You stop moving and start to struggle. "Don't you dare call me a whore." His thrusting slows, then your world goes dark with pain as a strong slap lands on the same spot of your butt as before.

"Owwwww. Owww. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Once the pain subsides, you realise you have no choice. "I want to be fucked, like a whore". Almost inaudible.

"I can't hear you, whore. Shout it." He thrusts in deep again, the hint of an orgasm start to build, and the world tilts. "Shout it!" The pressure is building and in your humiliation the orgasm builds more strongly. You moan loudly.

"Fuck me like a whore!" You shout it, loud. Jesus, that flipped a switch in him. He grabs your arms tight and starts thrusting even faster and deeper. You feel his strong hands pulling you roughly backwards to meet his thrusts. You can't help it now and start to moan loudly, your orgasm is almost here. You close your eyes and lose yourself to the sensation of that dick, imagining what it looks like sliding in and out of you, dripping with your juice as you are pinned down being fucked so roughly.

Your orgasm reaches the edge and suddenly your world spins out of control. Your orgasm takes full hold. You clench you muscles, but barely register that he has removed his dick. You release a high pitched gasp as the first pleasure wave hits you. Through the fog of your orgasm, you hear a distant grunt and moan just as your orgasm peaks and you feel warm streams of cum land across your face. The depravity of it intensifies your orgasm and you cry out loudly. Cum runs into your mouth and down your chin and you swallow involuntarily.

He collapses next to you and you both lay there in the heat and humidity panting and sweating, profusely. You can feel the warm cum running down your face and neck. You open your eyes and look at your husband who is looking back sternly.

"Fucking hell." You pant. "From now on, you fuck me like that."

"From now on." He retorts. "You will get fucked in whatever way I please."

The thought is elating and exciting. You smile broadly and you can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.

HIS STORY

"Shit." You proclaim to no one as you drop your house keys at the front door. You scramble to pick them up and fumble at the lock. It's already gone dark, but the security light isn't on. It usually isn't because your wife constantly turns it off absentmindedly.

Fraud. You think again. A fucking fraud investigation. That's all you need. It was a different department, but you know how these things can spread. Best keep your head low, don't get involved. You sweat in the light shirt and suit trousers you are wearing. Jesus, it was hot.

You enter the house. There is a light on upstairs. You wife must be already getting ready for bed. Good. She has done nothing but argue with you constantly since your youngest went to college a couple of months ago. It seems you can't even breathe these days without it causing a screaming row. You briefly think about what could be pissing her off so much, but your phone vibrates to acknowledge a new e-mail. Shit, the investigation is spreading, they are looking at your department now.

You think about the expenses claim you made 18 months ago. In truth, it's all you have been able to think about since it was paid in to your bank account. What if they uncover it? You could get fired. It started off as an honest mistake, a simple mistype on the system. You added an extra zero by accident. You hadn't even realised until it was paid in to your bank account. A mistake, that's all it was, just a mistake.

You would normally head off into the den to sort yourself out. You learned a long time ago your wife sex drive was next none existent, so you are reduced to frequent self-relief. Occasionally she'll hint about sex and you do your duty, but she's never really been interested in physical intimacy. But you are too riled up tonight to go to the den, you've got a funny, anxious, restless feeling, and besides it was late. And the heat. That fucking heat was oppressive.

That bitch of a boss had kept you late to put the accounts in order, who the fuck does she think she is ordering you around? You absently think about all the time you've missed with your family over the years because your domineering boss had you working on this report, or that report, or some other such unnecessary shit.

You climb the stairs and stop outside the bedroom. You breathe deeply and steel yourself for the inevitable argument to come. There is always an argument.

Your wife is in the shower. Good. You can get ready for bed without having to talk to her. You undress with the exception of your boxers and enter the bathroom. The steam from the shower hits you. You glance towards your wife. You get a good full view of her body as she puts her head back in the shower to wet her hair. Your stare lingers as you watch the water run down her breasts and between her legs. Jesus, you could do with a fuck tonight. Something to relieve the pressure. But what's the point in even trying with her.

You cover your tooth brush with paste and absentmindedly start to brush. It was just a typo. A fucking typo. Yes. But you didn't give the money back did you? And there it was. All the company needed to shaft you after 19 years of service. You feel more anxious. You steal a glance at your wife shampooing her hair. Her beauty had never faded, sure she looked more mature, but god you loved those breasts. Not that you really got to "play" with them much. It was always roll on, roll off. Missionary or nothing. Foreplay was none existent.

Damn this heat. You can't think straight. You need a release. You decide to head to the den after all. You pull off your boxers but suddenly hear your phone vibrating on the night stand. You toss the boxers towards the hamper and grab your phone, another e-mail from that bitch. You read it with increased dread. "Shit." You claim aloud. "Shit, fucking shit." She wants to see you first thing in the morning. Something about some irregularity in the numbers.

You sit on the bed and start to run through your e-mails to see if there's any clue what this could be about. Another e-mail arrives. This time with an attachment with some accounts on. You open it as fast as you can and start to scan the numbers.

"Put your fucking boxers in the hamper. How fucking difficult is it?" You hadn't heard your wife enter the room, but the tone was shocking, even for her. You glance up and see her there with wet hair ruffled around her face and falling over her breasts. You notice she's also trimmed her pubic hair. You are fucking tired of these games. She knows you have a high sex drive so walks around naked on fucking purpose just to piss you off.

You are in no mood for an argument and need to get back to the numbers.

"Whatever" you say as coolly and calmly as you can. You did not want this to escalate, not tonight.

"Don't you dare fucking dismiss me like that. And rinse the sink after you've cleaned your teeth. I have to clean your fucking mess up". She is spoiling for a fight. Best just to ignore it, you think. You return to the numbers and see the irregularity they are interested in. An invoicing error. Your relief is palpable and let a small smile play across your mouth. You will enjoy the small victory of throwing this back in the bitch's face.

"Put your fucking phone down... You pussy." You are shocked. You play it over in your mind what you think you just heard, not quite believing it. No. She couldn't have said it... could she?

"What did you say?"