She needs him too much. Too much. It has to stop.
Why? She rages. Why after all this time of denial can she not be her need. The need defines her. She sought him out of need, she suffers his too frequent absences out of need. Is one day too long, two days, three days an eternity? Between encounters, and they are becoming fewer, the high wears off sooner, the dullness settles again from the air, and she is back to waiting. Stupidly, like a blind and wounded animal, lifting her face to the sense of his return.
She is not a stupid woman. She is not inconsequential. The conflict sickens her. She has no appetite for food, exhausted from trying to cloak her appetite for him. She feels herself faded and fading, yet her physical allure intensifies. She has that translucence that is the mark of good character strafed by grief. She draws attention from men and feels only vague contempt, then terrible guilt at their hurt feelings. But she is helpless to return their interest. She doesn’t understand their words. Only feels a trail of hurt that drifts behind her.
There was that time that was so different. Usually he undresses her slowly, teasing, kissing and caressing, talking casually. She is shy, it’s her nature, she blushes and turns away and this delights him, he turns her this way, that way, gazing at her, watching her redden, feeling her rising, excited distress. But that time he pulled her to him roughly and yanked down her shorts and underwear. He stood her between his legs and smacked her hard and fast. It particularly disturbs and arouses her to be spanked standing up. With no preparation to his silent brusqueness she is shocked and almost frightened, clinging to his shoulder under the pounding of the blows. The smell of her surrounds them as she wettens.
He mutters something and drags her by the arm, tripping over her clothing, to the bathroom, forcing her down over the vanity.
"Look in the mirror," he says as he draws his belt out. "Look at yourself."
She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes closed tightly. It’s him that likes to look, she doesn’t want that image.
The belt cracks across her cheeks. No words, no warm up, hard and fast, again and again.
"Look," he says. "Look in the mirror at us."
She opens her eyes and gasps at his face in the mirror. His eyes glitter, his lips are drawn and wet. The cords in his neck stand out as he throws his weight behind the blows. He watches her mons bump the edge of the vanity. His rhythm is unvaried, as always, but his usual meticulous coverage is off, he hits the same places over and over, he’s watching the mirror.
She finally cries out. He stops and lies against her, panting, then stands and lifts her around the waist and carries her, legs bumping, to the big bed. He tosses her on her back, watching the pain shock spread through her as her asscheeks slam contact to the softest comforter that feels like sandpaper when she drags herself towards him. He can’t get his pants down before her legs are wrapped around his waist. Her body arched like a steel cable she pulls him into her. They clutch hands tightly, the time will be soon.
They can climax together. They’ve done it since their second time. She feels the hum of his blood change, he feels her clench high and to the left. They spill together, spasm together, whirlpools inside the granite of their union, the fierceness of their concentration.
This memory overcomes her. She straps herself, swinging wildly, catching her hip, her lower back, her shoulder blade. She falls onto the bed and straps her belly and her breasts, she spreads her legs and strikes in vain. The only one she feels from this stupid, inconsequential, too soft woman’s belt, is when it hits in her in the face. She’s never felt that before. She masturbates ferociously, knowing she’ll cripple herself for orgasm, not caring.
Finally she fumbles for the favored dildo and presses it between her beaten lips. Her cunt suck at it desperately, trying to make it come insider her.
She cries against her closed eyelids, cradling her burning clit. She doesn’t know any way to change this. She is this need. It’s all she wants to be.