© Copyright 2006 - Wiccedwoman - Used by permission
Storycodes: FM; caught; cons; X
“Fuck off Dave, just fuck off! Go away and don’t come back – you make me sick, you and your bitch of a mother. In fact, why don’t you screw her instead?” Sandy raged. The build-up had been simmering a while, and tonight’s incident had released the boiling genie from its bottle.
Dave look at her coldly, no understanding in his eyes. He didn’t comprehend why his girlfriend of three years was hurling this abuse. She was just a heartless cow – and over sexed. Just lately, his woman had been pushing; she’d made demands. A real lady wouldn’t mention sex; wouldn’t expect it. Lovemaking was his choice. She was obviously too horny, perhaps she needed some kind of therapy – though he wasn’t an expert. However, her rising voice quickly cut through his private thoughts. It was bouncing off the thick walls of the room with compelling resonance.
Sandy’s abode was a room an old Victorian nurses home. It was a large building; she shared it with another hundred residents or so. She could probably be heard up and down the corridor, but she didn’t care, she’d had enough.
As the echo died down, her chest still heaved with venomous arousal. Now, she stared at him with a cold, clear gaze – her diction precise and razor sharp, “Just get out Dave, just go and don’t come back.”
“OK then” he shot back, “I’ll go. I’ll fuck off. You never wanted me anyway. I’m not good enough for you now – and anyway, all you ever think about is sex.”
That last jibe hit its mark, the last comment being true, but Sandy wouldn’t let it show, “Well, perhaps I’d have something to think about if I ever got any!”
She caught the look in his eyes again; there was no thawing, no desperation to placate her, no willingness to figure out her anger. The fury was beginning to burn itself out and a quiet desperation was seeping in. She’d half hoped her outburst would wake him up, but no such luck. Of course, narcissists are incapable of such introspection; she just didn’t know it at the time – didn’t know academics had already described her Dave’s failings with clinical precision, until she read the book many years later. Right now, she only understood the emptiness in her gut.
Her mind flashed back to the episode earlier that day. Dave’s mother had visited her territory, the staff social club of the large psychiatric hospital where she worked or more specifically, where she was a student nurse. OK, she could tolerate that; she could be polite to the old bag who’d caused her so much grief, but dear God, at least let her pull a face behind the old witch’s back.
Dave had caught the disrespectful gesture and then lambasted Sandy for rudeness. It was the final straw. She’d lived through his mother possessive craziness for too long, she’d lived through Dave’s inability to separate. The woman didn’t treat her like a daughter; love rival would be nearer the mark. Dave was twenty-five, though he still lived at home with the widow. He was her eldest son, her little prince.
One night, Sandy recalled, he’d had the temerity to sleep in her bed until morning. The next day, the bitch transformed into a wailing, screaming banshee – desperate to locate her baby. The woman’s vociferous complaints to the officer in charge of the nurse’s residence almost got her evicted, men were not allowed after hours.
Sandy watched Dave’s back as he left and then gazed through the window as his motorbike roared away down the driveway. What now? It felt scary, but also liberating somehow – and, to be honest, Dave added little of value to her life. He was chronically unemployed. Her small wage supported them both and, as for sex – forget it. She couldn’t remember the last time he fucked her, probably because it was as scintillating as watching paint dry. Why was she still with him then? The thought made her pause. She’d been in love once – and now, she’d discovered, Dave was just as impervious to her hate. Boredom, the next stage, was rapidly approaching – although not without guilt. Perhaps she was over-sexed? Perhaps her boyfriend was right?
At nineteen, her personal life sucked. She wanted a man to desire her, to screw her with wild passion. She had a suspicion such men existed and now Dave had given her an out. Rage, she was discovering, is a valuable tool. Doubts about her unnatural appetites were fleeing before the monster, although she still didn’t understand why her boyfriend was so cold towards her. However, mother’s boys don’t really need another tit. At that moment, such comforting analysis escaped her – she merely felt unwanted.
She closed the door of her room and surveyed the untidy vista. A little energy – and defiance – began to creep back. She started to clear the mess, perhaps it hadn’t mattered before, but now, her depressive laziness seemed to be shifting. Within two hours, the small space glowed with order and a smouldering stick of incense added the final touch. She felt a bit better; the activity had calmed her anxiety and prevented her from phoning Dave.
She grabbed a mug, a spoon of coffee and headed to the communal kitchen. Boiling the water in her room wasn’t possible, only the electrical outlets in shared spaces were up to the task. The charge from her private one was too small – merely enough for radios and the like. The place was bustling – people everywhere, cooking, washing-up and generally chatting. She made her way to the urn and filled her cup, brushing past various bodies – and accidentally bumping one in the process.
“Hi” chirped a cheerful voice, “in a hurry?”
“Oh, um – no. Sorry, I didn’t mean to shove you.” She looked up into Hassan’s face.
He grinned back at her.
She felt herself melting. She’d seen him around for a while and thought he was attractive, not just his looks – though he was very easy on the eye. He was bubbly and friendly, always on the go and playing jokes. He was a native Londoner, although his parents came from Pakistan. His skin was brown, like dark chocolate and just a satiny. Jet-black curls fell over his collar. He was also tall and lithe – perfect fantasy material. Sandy blushed a little in his presence, remembering some torrid daydreams. Well, she had to compensate somehow for Dave’s shortcomings.
Hassan was a student nurse, like her. The Victorian-built asylum seemed to attract trainees of both sexes equally, unlike the nearby general medical hospital. Perhaps caring for lunatics was more macho than emptying bedpans. In any case, it meant Sandy was surrounded by a plethora of eligible guys – a fact she was beginning to wake up to. She’d been living like a nun in a bordello – at least, if the various comings and goings in that hundred-roomed residence were anything to go by.
She chatted with him for a while, a little shyly. Later, she didn’t remember what she’d said. To be honest, she thought afterwards; the non-verbals were far more interesting. He’d held her eyes seconds too long more than once, and paid close attention to every word she spoke, despite the fact it must have been nonsense.
Back in her own space and sipping on the coffee, Sandy tingled. Some life was coming back. Her favourite tape played in the background, her place was tidy for once and she’d been the recipient of some welcome male attention. “Fuck Dave” she thought. It also crossed her mind he was probably wondering why she hadn’t given in and called. Perhaps she never would . . . . . . . an enticing - and appalling - prospect. Eventually, she looked at the clock, 7pm. She decided to shower, dress in her favourite, sexiest outfit and apply some subtle warpaint. Standing back from the full-length mirror, she approved of the effect. Picking up the internal phone extension from the corridor outside, she dialled her girlfriend. Sue was still at work on one of the wards, her shift finished at 9pm. “Meet me in the social club when you get off?” asked Sandy.
“OK, fine” was Sue’s friendly response, “get me drink, I’ll be there at 9.30.”
Sandy did as instructed, welcoming her best pal with a shot of vodka and a warm smile. By then, she was already on her second drink. As always, Sue’s company was a huge comfort. They gossiped endlessly; of course, Sue advised her to dump her loser boyfriend.
“I think I already have,” giggled Sandy, the effects of the alcohol becoming more obvious. She glanced Hassan’s way as she said it. He was sitting with his mates, a couple of tables away – though their eyes had met all evening.
When the bar closed, Sandy hilariously swayed her way back to the nurses quarters with the help of Sue, who was almost as bad. She didn’t notice Hassan, quite a few steps behind.
Sue had already staggered to her own room by the time Sandy tried to locate her familiar keyhole. She was having some trouble targeting the opening.
It was a familiar voice and Sandy looked in its direction. Hassan lazily leaned against the door-frame, looking down at her.
“Look, I’ve got a bit of a problem – I’ve locked my keys in my room. I won’t be able to sort it out until the morning. Can I sleep on your floor?” He asked.
Sandy smiled, her heart pounding. Dave had been her only lover; now the universe had dumped a new, unopened package at her feet. “Yeah, that’s fine – come in. You can’t sleep in the corridor.”
He took the key from her hand, and wielded it with perfect precision. The door swung open and then clicked behind them.
Suddenly, Sandy felt embarrassed and awkward. The unfamiliar situation had a sobering effect. “Oh, um – well look, here’s a sleeping bag and pillow. You can crash on the floor, I’ll take the bed.”
“Yeah, fine,” he smiled, as he watched her drag the stuff from her cupboard.
After that, she began to feel giddy. The unaccustomed alcohol was making her head swim. She crawled on to the divan just in time, or she would have collapsed in an embarrassing heap. Hassan was left to make his own arrangements with the gear she’d provided. “Turn the light out when you’ve finished,” she whispered.
A gentle “OK” was the only reply.
Shortly, she heard an almost imperceptible click and the room was plunged into darkness. She heard his soft breathing and lifting her head slightly, made out the outline of the unfamiliar male figure resting on her floor. “What would Dave think?” she wondered. The idea was deliciously evil. Soon though, sleep overpowered her – a combination of too much to drink and emotional exhaustion. However, her encroaching unconsciousness was interrupted. Hassan had crept in beside her – and his hands were exploring every curve, while his mouth covered hers with exquisite warmth and softness. He was naked – and he quickly slipped off the clothes she’d been too modest to remove before lying down.
His bare skin against hers was heavenly. Suddenly, Sandy felt a snaking filament of pain burn between her thighs. The thread quickly became more intense, almost white hot. Her consciousness was concentrated to a single point, a single speck of mindless carnality. She squirmed a little and dug her nails into Hassan’s taut, almost iron-hard butt. She felt him shaft towards her again with a strength resembling anger. She was dancing on the edge of unimagined abandon, matching his beat, sliding joyfully against his smooth, sweat soaked flesh. The satisfying sting between her legs dissolved into a deeper throb that took on more urgency each time his large, beautiful cock forced it’s way inside; though now, he was easily slithering over her juices. “Oh fuck!” She thought, as her head turned sharply to one side and she let out a low moan, betraying long-buried sluttishness.
He was simply riding the randy bitch; caught like a beast in a cage of his own neediness. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could extract him from Sandy’s tight passage until he’d finished. His eyes opened slightly, to take in the mindless, open-mouthed expression on her face. She was gulping like a goldfish and dribbles of perspiration ran down her temple. He felt her fingers-nails rake his ass as she rhythmically rocked her body. He liked that, liked the sting, liked to see his lay hot and horny, liked to survey the evidence of his own prowess. His slid both hands under her soft butt and grabbed satisfying handfuls of flesh. He pulled her more snugly towards him and buried himself centimetres deeper; he didn’t care about her sharp intake of breath, he didn’t care about hurting her. The head of his cock was threatening to explode, that was all that mattered. Soon, he became aware of deliciously increasing tightness. The tension around his greedy prick was escalating
Sandy focussed on only one point of sensation. Her existence, her entire history, had simply liquefied. She was a disgusting animal, desperate to satisfy a single-minded need. She tore at his butt again. It felt like she was gorging on his hardness; milking him, demanding what she wanted most. Then she was there – a shuddering mass of ecstasy. It almost felt like she was peeing herself, but she couldn’t stop the forceful contractions – each one following hard on the heels of the next.
Hassan lost it – totally. He spurted harder and faster and longer than he’d ever remembered, burying deeper. For several seconds, a cascade of blissfully harsh contractions locked them together, skin on skin.
“Oh my God,” whispered Sandy to no-one in particular, “Oh my God.”
Surfacing, she soon became acutely aware of his lean body, stretching in a lazy, exhausted pose alongside her. He was intent on her features, tracing them gently with an index finger.
At last, she was satisfied. Contentedly, she met his gaze for while, before sleep claimed them both.
She was woken abruptly by a loud banging at her door. Without thinking, she wrapped herself in a sheet and undid the latch. The look on Dave’s face was priceless.
“Who’s that?” asked Hassan drowsily, as he lifted himself from the bed.
“My ex,” Sandy replied without skipping a beat.
“What’s wrong with you Sandy?” Dave exploded, “Who’s that bloke in your bed?”
Sandy affected a calm, philosophical air – though her nerves were screaming. “Like you said Dave, I’m over sexed.”
Then she locked the door in his face and went back to Hassan for a second helping.