Transgressive Fiction
Pinned — For Better or for Worse
CW — Domestic Violence: My head begins to pound with the vibrating noise from my heart as I whisper a reply
The door opens. Finally, Mark’s home.
I’ve been quietly reading in the sitting room, and now watch my husband’s slender frame stumbling over towards me. I wonder how much he’s had to drink. My heart begins to race at the thought. Taking over all rationality. But he joins me on the sofa and gently holds my hand.
“Gill. I’m sorry I’m late. I juss had ta go to The Swan. Bill needed a chat. His wife left yesterday. The week before Christmas, too. The bitch. You’d never leave me, would ya, Gill?”
He nestles lovingly into my neck.
“You understand me, don’t you, love?”
As he smothers my skin with little kisses, my pulse slows. He’s not aggravated. Or angry.
That’s good.
Drinking sometimes makes him, let’s say, a little unstable and volatile.
I decide to go and make him a sandwich. To help soak up the booze. Calling him to the kitchen, I put the cheese and pickle on rye down on the table.
“What’s this?” He mouths huskily, almost in a whisper.
I look at him, eyes widening, and gulp back my saliva.
“I SAID… wot’s this?” He bellows, picking up the sandwich and staring at it.
My head begins to pound with the vibrating noise from my heart as I whisper a reply.
Then, grabbing the plate, in one movement he throws it across the kitchen to smash on the stainless steel taps. I try to dodge out the door — too late. Mark has me by the hair and yanking my head back he spits words onto my face,
“Where’s me fuckin dinna, gal?”
“It… it got ruined. I was expecting you earlier.” I stutter, mouth dry.
“Ahhhh, that’s a shame. The princess… was… expecting me earlier,” he mimics, his mouth next to my ear.
Out of the blue he begins to stroke my face as if changing his mind and slowly, as way of a release, tears creep down my cheeks. At the same time, alcohol fumes assault my nostrils. The smell acts like a throwback to my father returning late from the pub on a Sunday lunchtime when I was a kid. Complaining to mum that his dinner was burnt.
Then, suddenly –
“But I’m hungry!” Mark’s voice explodes, filling the air while his palm roughly meets my breastbone as he forcefully propels me backwards against the kitchen cupboard. My shoulder thumps against a handle and I lose my balance, falling on to the floor tiles. I crouch down low — and still — quietly sobbing. Hoping he won’t come near.
A few minutes pass and out of the corner of my eye, I can see him seated, eating the sandwich. I curl up as small as possible, invisible, hoping he’ll forget I’m here.
Soon his head nods forward, and the snuffles and grunts tell me he’s dozing. I move sideways on my bottom until I am at the kitchen door.
Getting to my feet, I quietly run upstairs to bed.
I feel a little safer under the covers and drift in and out of sleep for a few hours, but am woken as Mark pulls back the covers. He takes me in his arms, holding me close.
“Oh Gill. I am so sorry my love. But it was such a tough day at work, and then Bill kept on about his wife. I must have drunk too much. Did… did I hurt you badly?”
Enjoying the caresses from his large, warm hands, I tell him no. I am fine.
Our mouths meet and I willingly surrender to his need as he pushes me back onto the bed, his fingers searching inside my knickers. Finding me wet.
“Good girl. My Gill. My princess.”
He begins to take down his jeans and boxers. Without even removing my panties he pulls the gusset aside and kneeling between my thighs, lines his cock up to my cunt lips as I open my legs wide and take all of him.
Our union.
The pain in my back momentarily subsides as I relish the slapping of flesh on flesh while Mark fucks me slowly and deliberately.
Nearing orgasm, I shift position slightly and dig my nails through his thin linen shirt, gripping his back. Moaning together, he pins me to the bed and fills me with his come. I’m a willing captive, soaking up every last drop.
After, he falls on top of me, kissing gently and whispers, “I love you Gill. Forgive me?”
And I do — as always.
Forgive and forget until the next time.
The following day, Saturday, we go out to the supermarket. Even though my back is bruised, I feel buoyed by the Christmas music and smell of roasted chestnuts. Back at home, I cook us a lovely chicken dinner.
“Mark… Supper’s ready.” I call out to him.
“Oh that looks delicious Gill. Wot a feast.”
Going to the fridge, I take a peep inside and then turn to him.
“Do you want a Pinot or a Sauvignon blanc with dinner?” I ask, holding a bottle of white wine in each hand.
Can be part of the 2023 prompt of Victoria on Tantalizing tales
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