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Fiction: She Could Scream Though



Paperback, 130 pages
        She’d done it to herself. That’s the way Kevin saw things as he pushed and shoved his wife awake, hours after he should’ve been back from Dr. Harris’ office. He’d stumbled into the house, practically dick-in-hand, with one mission in mind: to make that bitch cry, to watch her squirm, and try and holler.
        Kevin knelt onto the bed, and somehow removed his shoes as he woke her. Michelle stirred a little. She immediately froze once she realized he was drunk again. Her eyes wide, she tried to push back, to get away from him, but Kevin in his state was too nimble for her to avoid. In seconds he was straddling her, pants undone. He dug his way inside her with the savagery of a hunter pulling meat from the bones of his game.
        Her thin fingers scraped air as Michelle tried hopelessly for Kevin’s neck whenever she could. He easily slapped away her hands. He hit her in the face to discourage any further resistance, and continued ramming her body. He would not let up, and he would not slow down.
        He didn’t want her to mistake this for an act of sexual release. He wouldn’t want her think he had any actual desire for her whatsoever. There was no caress, no kiss, no dirty, sultry murmur of sexual nothings; only pulling, gripping, and thrusting. He had to let her know that he was having his way with her and he could and would do it anytime he felt like punishing her.
        Kevin threw a pillow over her face to stifle the sound of her cries. She was bawling like a baby for its mother, but he didn’t stop. He pushed down on the pillow with one arm, gripped her neck with his other hand. Michelle’s fingers flew up at him, but she had no basis for direction, nor focus or strength enough to affect what he was doing to her.
        She could scream though.