(no subject)
It should be said that Raymond Watts is a serious alcoholic.
On tour, there really wasn't any time nor motivation for any involved game time. I have enough of the reverse that by the end I'm itchin' for some scritchin'. Several weeks had gone by and I hadn't received mine. Loving strokes and fevered kisses get me off, but I was feeling a bit put off. I decided perhaps my hubby needed a reminder of my need pyramid. So, rather than draw a flow chart or flog myself over coffee, I decided to let him think it was all his idea. This decision leads to the prologue of our story.
Again, I remind you how gravely serious alcohol is held in the Watts residence. Typically there are several bottles on hand at any time. With this being my unspoken responsibility, I just "happened" to forget to restock. I did have enough foresight to buy Dahlia a new shirt.
10:45pm Thursday
So, taking the last bottle of bourbon, shirt and pig to the bath, I told Raymond that I would be certain to replenish the stock afterwards. I had just nestled Dahlia into her pink "My Heart Belongs To Mummy" shirt when there was a knock at the door. He asked, a bit strained, where the booze was. I yelled that I had the last bottle, but I'd share. So I scooped up Dahlia, making sure the shirt logo was facing out, and with the other hand around the neck of the bottle, somehow managed the door. "Here, my love," - smiling and holding Dahlia - and just as his eyes flicked over her shirt, I let the bottle crash to the floor. Only a noise from his throat indicated his rage as I simultaneously screamed and thrust the pig into his arms. Murmuring something about the glass, I slammed the door shut and locked it. From the other side, I calmly told him again that it was the last bottle and he would have to go get more himself. I couldn't clean the glass and be dressed on time. The off license stopped selling in ten minutes. He best hurry.
I sat in the bath and smoked, listening to him rage. I can only call it that because I couldn't understand a fucking word he was saying. He turns very British when he's in a state.
11:10pm Thursday
When he'd returned, I came to sit by him on the couch in his Find It, Fuck It, Forget It shirt, curled up and apologized for breaking the last bottle. He only kissed my forehead and put one hand on my shoulder and the other on the remote. That insensitive fucker.
Restless, I made a rather acrobatic show of checking myself for glass shards. Paying me no notice, he kept drinking and laughing inappropriately at inane sitcoms. He got up and made popcorn during a commercial. He handed me the bowl, seeming to have forgotten that the very smell of it makes me ill.
3:12am Friday morning
In bed, I was plaintively rubbing my ass against him. I was thinking he was finally getting the point when he started fucking me softly. Forcing myself harder against him was going to prove fruitless. There would be no hard fucking. There would, in fact, be no more fucking. Raymond... Raymond... The only reply was a snore. I actually felt my face twist up with fury. Unfuckingbelievable. That drunk fucking bastard. Apparently, the honeymoon was over. Queen of Everything my fucking ass. Oh wait, my ass wasn't getting any either. I didn't even bother being quiet getting out of bed on my way to get my vibrator, in fact I made sure I kicked over the last of the bottle by the bed. No morning hair of the dog, oh no.
Despite all my screaming and writhing, he wasn't waking up and I wasn't getting off. And then the fucker rolled over onto my arm, pinning it flat against me so I couldn't move it. I tried switching hands, but anybody that knows me knows I'm useless with my left hand. I gave up in frustration and said to the ceiling, "I would put a hole in your thigh, but I have no gun. I LEFT them, along with everything ELSE INTHESTATESFORYOU."
I felt guilty for maybe thirty seconds until another ignorant snore started me plotting my revenge.
8:45am Friday
Since I didn't manage to fall asleep, getting up early was no problem at all. I made an Olympic, fuckall breakfast, ate all of it and left the mess. Dahlia was near porcine psychosis from hunger when I put her on the bed and put some grapes around Raymond's head. I kissed both my darlings and set off for a day of retail therapy.
I was wearing my favorite Velvet Underground shirt, the one with the boot and whip. It may possibly be my only white t-shirt. I decided to wear my best cowboy hat to offset the Levi's and MP boots. I wasn't in the mood for a pretty woman incident. After buying a couple pairs of shoes, I decided to get Raymond a new shirt, two sizes too big.
7:27pm Friday
When I finally made it home, I could hear Dahlia screaming from inside and hurried to unlock the door. He let her down when I came in and dropped my bags. "Cute, Raymond. Very fucking cute." With a black Sharpie, he'd drawn a line through "Mummy" and written "Daddy." Not noticing either my irritation or giving me a breath to begin my rant, he took Dahlia from me and pulled me toward the back of the house. "I have something to show you," he said a little too sweetly.
My hormones were acutely aware of how sexy he was in his leathers. Shirtless and covered in sweat and sawdust. I noticed he had on knee pads. "Oh, building my shrine, Darling?" Opening the door to the shower room, he pointed to the bubble mirror he'd mounted to the ceiling. "No, just something to show you how much I love you," and with that, he shoved me into the shower room and and slid the bolt into place. As I turned around, I heard a key in the key lock. We'd never used the key lock before. "Not funny," I said through the door. "Ok, you can let me out now. You've proven your point. Big man can lock a little girl in a windowless room." Despite my ignored protests, he didn't let me out.
I went and sat in the corner to smoke and realized I had no purse and somehow he'd gotten my hat. Mother fucker. It was then I noticed a small note taped to the wall. "WASH." Ok. Fine. I'll play his little game. He probably wants to watch me via camera showering. I did my best strip and took a long over-exaggerated shower. Afterward, having no towel, I just put my panties and shirt back on.
"Ok, Daddy. All clean. You can let me out now please." Mother fucker. My only answer was a loud, repetitive drilling and occasional hammering on something right outside the door. About half an hour later, all the noise stopped.He walked up to the door and whispered through the crack, "You're going to be a while," and a cigarette rolled under the door. I had to scramble to catch it before it got wet. I started to pound the door and vomit curses at everything from his cock to his mother, music and marriage. Fuming, I heard the slide lock click, him walk away and suddenly, the Wizard of Oz soundtrack. How it got in the house when he actively despises the movie, I do not know. When getting the lighter I keep in my pocket, I realized he'd managed to get my knife out of there earlier. Apparently, I would not be jacking the key lock open. I was left to smoke, fume and think of new insults to scream at the door. At one point, he went through the shopping bad, lecturing me. The rest of the time he was either silent or muttering and giggling to himself outside the door. I wondered who had replaced my loving, attentive husband with this juvenile, low rank sadist. "False imprisonment is illegal and guarantees me an annulment. I'll have your studio for this, mother fucker. I thought you had more style for dispatch than just letting me starve."
11:18pm Friday
By the time the Munchkins were again AGAIN singing about the fucking Lollipop Guild, I was foaming at the mouth, crying and slamming my boots against the door.
He came in then, and threw me to the far end of the room. I was slipping on the wet tile trying to get up and before I realized it, he had me cuffed and was hanging the connecting chain to one of the meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. By pressing a button he had the conveyer of hooks pulling me to the other corner. The chain was plenty slack, so I tried running at him but kept slipping. Rage and tears kept him blurry, but I could see he had put on my hat. He left and then brought in some sort of peg board and began installing mounts for it on one wall. I pulled myself together to watch. Lighting a cigarette, he came over and measured my height, arm and leg spans. Holding one of my thighs between his side and his arm, he stuck the smoke between my lips. Never looking me in the eye, he turned back and put some sort of hook into each calculated peg. It began to dawn on me what a brilliant thing he had built. You could hang anyone by any limb however you wanted. I remember thinking that the more smoke I exhaled, the more terror settled into my stomach.
Again, he came up to me and dodged the cigarette I spat at his head. I got in a few kicks before he again had my leg captured. He made sure he had the d-ring cuffs secure before taking the chain from the hook. After dragging me to the board, he simiply picked me up and fastened each wrist to a hook. Facing the wall I only felt him linger against me for a moment. My mind was moving too fast to even to talk my way out of it. Understanding what he meant when he tapped the blade of my knife against my cheek, he had entire control of this situation. Even with all the speed and agility he'd demonstrated earlier, I was left to tremble and gasp when, in nearly one movement, he'd cut my panties off and had my shirt shoved up to my shoulders. Yanking my head back, he wrung my hair out over my bare back and slid my feet back. When he walked out of the room, I almost panicked. Can not be alone in here again.
He'd stuck one of those happy hippy sun smiley faces on the ceiling. My husband was fucking sick. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him carrying a small box with WATTS on the front and switches at the base. The attached cord snaked over wet tile as he walked over. Using the water on my skin, he stuck three electrodes down my back, the bottom two resting just above my ass. He stood back a bit and tested each contact point. I could hear his lips slide across his teeth every time I flinched. Not getting much closer, he stuck two fingers inside me and then remorselessly used them to stick another electrode above my pubic bone. "Yes Daddy, I love even this." I said what I knew he wanted to hear. He knew I meant it. He ran the circuit with a rhythm akin to Christmas lights in succession. I was clenching and still trying not to slip around too badly. Screaming "yours" over and over was the best way to keep from biting my tongue. The same moment I realized he was only hitting the point above my cunt was the same one where I wondered how long he'd been humming that song. He leaned against me and slid his fingers into me again. I felt myself contracting around his fingers. After inhaling me, he stepped back.
He took off all the electrodes. I assumed he was finished. The reflection of him over my shoulder in the blade of the scalpel he held in front of me more than proved me wrong. He allowed me one sob. I knew frpm my own work that now was a good time to be perfectly still. Straining to take the pull off my wrists, I readied myself. As he cut "Watts" into my thigh right under my ass cheek, I wept. It wasn't so much the pain as the complete and total release. Almost like everything bad, hurtful, stressful or ugly went right to that spot. Him, his name, by being his, we would always take those things from me. He would always carry my burdens as his own.
His hands were bloody as he took me down and threw me to the floor. We fucked hard. Clinging and biting and screaming. We took pieces out of each other like we were trying to consume each other again. I didn't hear my name when he screamed. I heard everything I am to him within it.
1:58am Saturday morning
Scooping me up, he carried me up to the bath. While it was filling, he put a waterproof bandage on my thigh. He was fussing about infection and I was fussing about his administrations. We got in and he cleaned me up, nuzzling me and washing my hair. Stretched out on top of him, hands entwined with his arm around me, I just listened to him a while. He handed me a glass of champagne after he'd poured some bourbon. After downing my glass, I took his bottle. Sniffed. "I was going to make you dinner, you know."
The mafia made me do it.
On tour, there really wasn't any time nor motivation for any involved game time. I have enough of the reverse that by the end I'm itchin' for some scritchin'. Several weeks had gone by and I hadn't received mine. Loving strokes and fevered kisses get me off, but I was feeling a bit put off. I decided perhaps my hubby needed a reminder of my need pyramid. So, rather than draw a flow chart or flog myself over coffee, I decided to let him think it was all his idea. This decision leads to the prologue of our story.
Again, I remind you how gravely serious alcohol is held in the Watts residence. Typically there are several bottles on hand at any time. With this being my unspoken responsibility, I just "happened" to forget to restock. I did have enough foresight to buy Dahlia a new shirt.
10:45pm Thursday
So, taking the last bottle of bourbon, shirt and pig to the bath, I told Raymond that I would be certain to replenish the stock afterwards. I had just nestled Dahlia into her pink "My Heart Belongs To Mummy" shirt when there was a knock at the door. He asked, a bit strained, where the booze was. I yelled that I had the last bottle, but I'd share. So I scooped up Dahlia, making sure the shirt logo was facing out, and with the other hand around the neck of the bottle, somehow managed the door. "Here, my love," - smiling and holding Dahlia - and just as his eyes flicked over her shirt, I let the bottle crash to the floor. Only a noise from his throat indicated his rage as I simultaneously screamed and thrust the pig into his arms. Murmuring something about the glass, I slammed the door shut and locked it. From the other side, I calmly told him again that it was the last bottle and he would have to go get more himself. I couldn't clean the glass and be dressed on time. The off license stopped selling in ten minutes. He best hurry.
I sat in the bath and smoked, listening to him rage. I can only call it that because I couldn't understand a fucking word he was saying. He turns very British when he's in a state.
11:10pm Thursday
When he'd returned, I came to sit by him on the couch in his Find It, Fuck It, Forget It shirt, curled up and apologized for breaking the last bottle. He only kissed my forehead and put one hand on my shoulder and the other on the remote. That insensitive fucker.
Restless, I made a rather acrobatic show of checking myself for glass shards. Paying me no notice, he kept drinking and laughing inappropriately at inane sitcoms. He got up and made popcorn during a commercial. He handed me the bowl, seeming to have forgotten that the very smell of it makes me ill.
3:12am Friday morning
In bed, I was plaintively rubbing my ass against him. I was thinking he was finally getting the point when he started fucking me softly. Forcing myself harder against him was going to prove fruitless. There would be no hard fucking. There would, in fact, be no more fucking. Raymond... Raymond... The only reply was a snore. I actually felt my face twist up with fury. Unfuckingbelievable. That drunk fucking bastard. Apparently, the honeymoon was over. Queen of Everything my fucking ass. Oh wait, my ass wasn't getting any either. I didn't even bother being quiet getting out of bed on my way to get my vibrator, in fact I made sure I kicked over the last of the bottle by the bed. No morning hair of the dog, oh no.
Despite all my screaming and writhing, he wasn't waking up and I wasn't getting off. And then the fucker rolled over onto my arm, pinning it flat against me so I couldn't move it. I tried switching hands, but anybody that knows me knows I'm useless with my left hand. I gave up in frustration and said to the ceiling, "I would put a hole in your thigh, but I have no gun. I LEFT them, along with everything ELSE INTHESTATESFORYOU."
I felt guilty for maybe thirty seconds until another ignorant snore started me plotting my revenge.
8:45am Friday
Since I didn't manage to fall asleep, getting up early was no problem at all. I made an Olympic, fuckall breakfast, ate all of it and left the mess. Dahlia was near porcine psychosis from hunger when I put her on the bed and put some grapes around Raymond's head. I kissed both my darlings and set off for a day of retail therapy.
I was wearing my favorite Velvet Underground shirt, the one with the boot and whip. It may possibly be my only white t-shirt. I decided to wear my best cowboy hat to offset the Levi's and MP boots. I wasn't in the mood for a pretty woman incident. After buying a couple pairs of shoes, I decided to get Raymond a new shirt, two sizes too big.
7:27pm Friday
When I finally made it home, I could hear Dahlia screaming from inside and hurried to unlock the door. He let her down when I came in and dropped my bags. "Cute, Raymond. Very fucking cute." With a black Sharpie, he'd drawn a line through "Mummy" and written "Daddy." Not noticing either my irritation or giving me a breath to begin my rant, he took Dahlia from me and pulled me toward the back of the house. "I have something to show you," he said a little too sweetly.
My hormones were acutely aware of how sexy he was in his leathers. Shirtless and covered in sweat and sawdust. I noticed he had on knee pads. "Oh, building my shrine, Darling?" Opening the door to the shower room, he pointed to the bubble mirror he'd mounted to the ceiling. "No, just something to show you how much I love you," and with that, he shoved me into the shower room and and slid the bolt into place. As I turned around, I heard a key in the key lock. We'd never used the key lock before. "Not funny," I said through the door. "Ok, you can let me out now. You've proven your point. Big man can lock a little girl in a windowless room." Despite my ignored protests, he didn't let me out.
I went and sat in the corner to smoke and realized I had no purse and somehow he'd gotten my hat. Mother fucker. It was then I noticed a small note taped to the wall. "WASH." Ok. Fine. I'll play his little game. He probably wants to watch me via camera showering. I did my best strip and took a long over-exaggerated shower. Afterward, having no towel, I just put my panties and shirt back on.
"Ok, Daddy. All clean. You can let me out now please." Mother fucker. My only answer was a loud, repetitive drilling and occasional hammering on something right outside the door. About half an hour later, all the noise stopped.He walked up to the door and whispered through the crack, "You're going to be a while," and a cigarette rolled under the door. I had to scramble to catch it before it got wet. I started to pound the door and vomit curses at everything from his cock to his mother, music and marriage. Fuming, I heard the slide lock click, him walk away and suddenly, the Wizard of Oz soundtrack. How it got in the house when he actively despises the movie, I do not know. When getting the lighter I keep in my pocket, I realized he'd managed to get my knife out of there earlier. Apparently, I would not be jacking the key lock open. I was left to smoke, fume and think of new insults to scream at the door. At one point, he went through the shopping bad, lecturing me. The rest of the time he was either silent or muttering and giggling to himself outside the door. I wondered who had replaced my loving, attentive husband with this juvenile, low rank sadist. "False imprisonment is illegal and guarantees me an annulment. I'll have your studio for this, mother fucker. I thought you had more style for dispatch than just letting me starve."
11:18pm Friday
By the time the Munchkins were again AGAIN singing about the fucking Lollipop Guild, I was foaming at the mouth, crying and slamming my boots against the door.
He came in then, and threw me to the far end of the room. I was slipping on the wet tile trying to get up and before I realized it, he had me cuffed and was hanging the connecting chain to one of the meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. By pressing a button he had the conveyer of hooks pulling me to the other corner. The chain was plenty slack, so I tried running at him but kept slipping. Rage and tears kept him blurry, but I could see he had put on my hat. He left and then brought in some sort of peg board and began installing mounts for it on one wall. I pulled myself together to watch. Lighting a cigarette, he came over and measured my height, arm and leg spans. Holding one of my thighs between his side and his arm, he stuck the smoke between my lips. Never looking me in the eye, he turned back and put some sort of hook into each calculated peg. It began to dawn on me what a brilliant thing he had built. You could hang anyone by any limb however you wanted. I remember thinking that the more smoke I exhaled, the more terror settled into my stomach.
Again, he came up to me and dodged the cigarette I spat at his head. I got in a few kicks before he again had my leg captured. He made sure he had the d-ring cuffs secure before taking the chain from the hook. After dragging me to the board, he simiply picked me up and fastened each wrist to a hook. Facing the wall I only felt him linger against me for a moment. My mind was moving too fast to even to talk my way out of it. Understanding what he meant when he tapped the blade of my knife against my cheek, he had entire control of this situation. Even with all the speed and agility he'd demonstrated earlier, I was left to tremble and gasp when, in nearly one movement, he'd cut my panties off and had my shirt shoved up to my shoulders. Yanking my head back, he wrung my hair out over my bare back and slid my feet back. When he walked out of the room, I almost panicked. Can not be alone in here again.
He'd stuck one of those happy hippy sun smiley faces on the ceiling. My husband was fucking sick. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him carrying a small box with WATTS on the front and switches at the base. The attached cord snaked over wet tile as he walked over. Using the water on my skin, he stuck three electrodes down my back, the bottom two resting just above my ass. He stood back a bit and tested each contact point. I could hear his lips slide across his teeth every time I flinched. Not getting much closer, he stuck two fingers inside me and then remorselessly used them to stick another electrode above my pubic bone. "Yes Daddy, I love even this." I said what I knew he wanted to hear. He knew I meant it. He ran the circuit with a rhythm akin to Christmas lights in succession. I was clenching and still trying not to slip around too badly. Screaming "yours" over and over was the best way to keep from biting my tongue. The same moment I realized he was only hitting the point above my cunt was the same one where I wondered how long he'd been humming that song. He leaned against me and slid his fingers into me again. I felt myself contracting around his fingers. After inhaling me, he stepped back.
He took off all the electrodes. I assumed he was finished. The reflection of him over my shoulder in the blade of the scalpel he held in front of me more than proved me wrong. He allowed me one sob. I knew frpm my own work that now was a good time to be perfectly still. Straining to take the pull off my wrists, I readied myself. As he cut "Watts" into my thigh right under my ass cheek, I wept. It wasn't so much the pain as the complete and total release. Almost like everything bad, hurtful, stressful or ugly went right to that spot. Him, his name, by being his, we would always take those things from me. He would always carry my burdens as his own.
His hands were bloody as he took me down and threw me to the floor. We fucked hard. Clinging and biting and screaming. We took pieces out of each other like we were trying to consume each other again. I didn't hear my name when he screamed. I heard everything I am to him within it.
1:58am Saturday morning
Scooping me up, he carried me up to the bath. While it was filling, he put a waterproof bandage on my thigh. He was fussing about infection and I was fussing about his administrations. We got in and he cleaned me up, nuzzling me and washing my hair. Stretched out on top of him, hands entwined with his arm around me, I just listened to him a while. He handed me a glass of champagne after he'd poured some bourbon. After downing my glass, I took his bottle. Sniffed. "I was going to make you dinner, you know."
The mafia made me do it.