A Bestiary of Unnatural Women (25 page)

She stepped directly in front of him with her
hands dangling at her sides and said, “That's it. Okay? I'm ready.”
She clenched her abs in anticipation of a punch to the gut. “Go
ahead,” she grunted. “Make me sorry for what I did to you. Make me
sorry that I was ever born.”

Derrick didn't think that he'd be able to hit
his wife. Then she smiled. It was the exact expression that she
used when she thought that he'd done something stupid. It was like
she was enjoying seeing him standing there with his hands dangling
impotently. He had no choice. He had to wipe that smug expression
right off her face. He lashed out with a quick snap that caught her
full on the cheek. Her head bounced sideways an inch. When she
looked back at him, there was no smile on her face; her smug
expression had been replaced by shock, as though she hadn't
believed that he would really hit her. Then she forced herself to
smile again. “Is that all you got?” she slurred through her
mouthpiece. “Man up, you cocksucker. You'll never break my nose or
crack my ribs with pussy little jabs like that.”

He cocked his arm back and smacked her
straight in the face. He didn't put his body weight behind the
blow, but he didn't pull the punch, either. He hit her hard and the
slap of leather against skin sounded loud in the small room. When
the glove bounced back, he saw her head rock on her neck. She
wasn't smiling now. She put her gloves up to protect her face from
a third blow. He drove his left hard into her gut.

She grunted loudly as the wind was driven
from her lungs but kept her hands in front of her face. He followed
immediately with a combination to the body, a right to her upper
abdomen and a left into the ribs on her right side. This time he
put a little weight behind his punches. She groaned in pain and
lowered her gloves from her face. His next right caught her across
her left cheek and eye. It was the hardest punch to her face so far
and she yelped in pain around her mouthguard.

“Keep your mouth shut, bitch, or you'll break
your teeth despite the mouthguard,” he snarled and snapped his left
glove against her right cheek – not hard, a warning. She snapped
her mouth shut and he slammed her full in the face, rocking her
head back. Her lip split and blood burst out. She whimpered but
kept her mouth shut. Finally, she thought to raise her gloves to
protect her face again.

Then he settled down to work, rhythmically
and methodically slamming into her upper arms, ribs, and abdomen;
punishing body blows that bounced her back and forth from side to
side and slowly drove her backwards, one step at a time.

For variety, he slammed into her upper arms,
hard, knocking her own gloves against her face.

She grunted and whimpered continuously under
the rain of blows.

As the damage accumulated, bruising made her
skin turn bright red and tender. Every punch was a new agony. She
began trying to anticipate the blows. Rather than trying to hold
her ground and let him push her back, she peered over her raised
gloves and jumped back when she saw his fist coming. But he could
move his fists a lot faster than she could move her body. He kept
advancing and hammering at her until he had her backed into a
corner.

She could move no more. All she had left was
to raise her arms to cover her face and let him plaster her body
with brutal blow after brutal blow. They both heard her two lower
left ribs crack when he hit her with all his might. He stepped back
and lowered his gloves.

She gasped, “What's the matter, slugger? Run
out of steam? Don't wimp out on me now. I can take whatever you can
lay on me.” She lowered her arms and he saw blood dripping from her
nose.

Tears were welling from her eyes, making it
difficult for her to see him.

He walked back to the middle of the room,
turned and said, “Come on out here, then, and we'll see how tough
you really are.”

She walked toward him slowly. For all her
bravado, she was suffering terribly from his prolonged pummeling on
her upper body and face. The cracked ribs made every breath
painful.

“Spread your legs.”

She knew what was coming – she was the one
who said that low blows were allowed – but she spread her legs wide
anyway and waited for him.

The upper cut to her cunt was vicious.
Derrick put all his strength into it.

She gasped in pain, then managed to sneer and
say, “That's pretty crude symbolism, don't you think?”

“You flinched and put your knees together on
me. Spread 'em again.”

“I didn't,” she said, but she gathered her
courage and spread her knees as wide as she could for him.

“Now, shut your eyes and I'll give you a
surprise.”

Fearfully, she closed her eyes.

“No peeking, now. Good and tight.”

A long moment passed and then the slap of
leather against flesh echoed through the room as her clit and lips
were crushed against her pubic bone. His first blow had been
nothing compared to this. Her crotch exploded in agony. She
shrieked and collapsed to the floor, her gloved hands pressing
between her legs, trying in vain to staunch the white-hot pain
flowing through the tenderest parts of her female anatomy.

After watching her writhe on the floor for a
minute, Derrick said, “Stand back up.”

She struggled to regain her feet.

“Assume the position again.”

“No, please. No, not again.”

Her nose crunched when his right hand powered
into her face. There was no doubt that it was broken now. Much too
late, she threw her gloves up to protect her face from further
pounding.

“Put your hands down.”

“Please. I'll do it. I'll spread my legs for
you. Don't hit my face any more.” She spread her legs wide one more
time.

He didn't bother to tell her to close her
eyes; with her gloves in front of her face, she couldn't see the
next punch coming. This time she screamed so loudly that her
mouthguard flew across the floor, spraying a fan of blood that had
filled her mouth from her split lip. Again she collapsed to the
floor in agony. She feared that she might be rendered sexually
dysfunctional if he kept doing this. He feared that the neighbors
might hear her screaming and call the cops.

“Shut up!” he yelled and delivered a vicious
kick to her left buttock. She cried out, but not as loudly as she
had been screaming. He kicked her again in the back of her thighs.
She said that she had wanted to see if he could bruise her big
muscles all the way to the bone? Okay. Let's find out, he
thought.

She curled into a foetal position and let him
kick her again and again while she screamed and cried. After
delivering innumerable kicks to the biggest muscles in her body,
his frenzy abated enough to hear that she was begging for mercy.
“Please stop. Please. I'm begging you. Please forgive me. Please
don't hurt me any more. I'm so sorry.”

He stopped kicking her.

She struggled to her knees, leaning her
weight against his legs and throwing her gloved hands around his
thighs. “Thank-you,” she sobbed. “Thank-you. Thank-you.”

He didn't know if she was thanking him for
beating her or thanking him for stopping.

She kept struggling upward and, when her head
reached the level of his crotch, she used the thumbs on her boxing
gloves to pull his shorts down over his hips to his knees. Then she
put her lips to his sweaty, half-erect cock.
When had that
happened?
he asked himself absently.
Did beating his wife
half to a pulp actually turn him on? Was he some kind of sick
fuck?

When she began working him with her bloody
tongue and lips and he stopped thinking about anything but fucking
her. God it had been a long time since he had fucked his wife. He
was going to do it now and he was going to do it strictly for his
own pleasure. To hell with what she wanted. All that mattered was
what he wanted and, right now, he wanted his cock buried in her
cunt all the way to the hilt.

He pushed her hungry mouth away, then put his
still-gloved hands on her shoulders and shoved her torso to the
floor. Her crotch was beet-red and tender as hell from the pounding
it had taken but that was her problem, not his. She whimpered when
he parted her lips and entered her, then screamed in pain when he
drove down all the way to the root and crushed her swollen clit
against the underlying bone with the full weight of his body.

He ignored her suffering and pounded into her
as hard as he could. When he came, he screamed every obscenity in
his vocabulary almost as loudly as she was screaming in pain. He
screamed that she was a dirty cunt, a god-damned whore, and a
fucking slut. And more. And he meant every word.

He stayed inside, his sweat pouring over her
face and body, and waited until he was completely limp before
rolling off of her.

As soon as she was free of his weight, she
rolled back up into a foetal ball, hugged her knees to her chest
and sobbed piteously.

After he regained his breath, he looked
across at her, seeing her face clearly for the first time since he
had begun beating her. Before he had begun beating her, she had
worn that smug expression. He had been determined to wipe off her
face. Well, it was gone now. Her nose was smashed crooked and she
was blowing bubbles of blood from it with every breath. Her lower
lip was split open and was dribbling more blood from the raw wound.
Her entire face was splotched with dark red patches that covered
her from chin to hairline and ear to ear. Both eye sockets were
already turning an ugly black.

The only part of her upper body that was
unbruised were her breasts. He had not hit her breasts even once.
He still loved her tits and some deep, reptilian part of him did
not want to see them lumpy and discolored. But leaving her breasts
untouched was not much of a mercy considering that her body was one
massive bruise from just below them all the way to her pubes. He
didn't want to know what her crotch looked like. Her upper legs
looked the worst of all. His kicks had been vicious and the soft
rubber toes of his running shoes had hit her like rubber mallets
over and over again. The deep bruises there were already dark
purple in places.

He looked down at the hands that had done
this and saw that the white leather on the front of both gloves was
smeared with his wife's blood.

Remorse flooded through him. How had he been
able to do this to another human being? Especially someone that he
had once loved? Tears began rolling down his cheeks, mixing with
the sweat that was pouring across his face.

When Jillian heard him sob, she looked across
into his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said, raggedly.

She reached out a hand and put a finger
across his lips. “No, darling. I'm sorry. You only did what I asked
you to do. And I asked you to do it only because you needed it. You
did the right thing. You've always done the right thing.” She was
whispering, her voice dampened by the pain that was coursing
through her body, but her words rang clearly in his ears. “And you
know something? I'm going to heal just fine. I'm going to set my
nose straight and tape my lip together and bind my ribs up and in a
couple of weeks or a month, I'll be as good as new again. And then
you know what's going to happen? I'm going back to the gym and
start working out again. I have to keep myself in shape because, in
two or three months, you're going to start thinking about how I
betrayed you and it's going to eat at you and you'll start
wondering if I'm thinking about betraying you again, and you'll get
angry again. And when that happens, I'll know and then I'm going to
bring you back down here to my new wedding ring and put those
gloves back on you and you're going to beat me to a pulp again. And
that's going to keep happening as often as necessary until you are
absolutely convinced that I'll suffer anything to do to earn your
trust back, no matter how much pain I have to endure. And then,
maybe, you'll be able to forgive me. Really forgive me and then you
can start learning how to trust me again. Actual, real trust, not
like now when you're just feeling sorry for a beaten woman. When
that finally happens, when you know in your heart that you can
trust me again, then you won't need to beat me any more and then we
can start planning the rest of our future together.” She dreamed of
going back to work again, resuming her career, and eventually
having children with Derrick, but it was too early to share those
happy thoughts with him. Much too early. Maybe another year for the
job; maybe three or four before children. She'd have to take a lot
of beatings before she could ask him for that much. But the beat of
their marital life would go on. She would do everything in her
power to make sure of that.

He shook his head. “I don't care what you
say. I'm never going to beat you like this again.”

She smiled sadly. “Yes, you will. You have to
do it for both our sakes. I think, next time, that I'm not going to
wear gloves. Instead, I'm going to wear handcuffs. If my hands are
cuffed behind my back, you'll be able to do a much more precise job
on me. You'll be able to make my punishment that much more severe.
Now, let me untie those gloves for you and then you go upstairs and
have a nice warm shower and then go to work. I'm going to lay down
here for a while longer. But don't you worry, I'll be able to make
it up those stairs after I've had a little rest.” She could not
stop herself from whimpering at the thought of having to move but
she covered it by saying, “But I think we'll have to order pizza in
tonight. I don't think I won't be able to cook dinner for you until
tomorrow.”

As she listened to her husband mount the
stairs, she felt like she had been racked. Her beating had been
worse than she had imagined. Thanks to her cracked ribs, every
breath hurt; thanks to her bruising, every movement was pain. But
her agony was ameliorated by hope. She had just had the longest
conversation that she had had with her husband in four months. And
he had even made love to her, more or less.