Provoked

I hate myself when I get like this.

I’m going to hurt somebody. And I’m afraid it is going to be you.

I’m down to my last pack of Lucky’s and half way through the last bottle of whiskey. I’m hoping for alcohol induced oblivion, but I just can’t find it.

I told you to pick up more cigs and hooch Bitch when you went out shopping yesterday morning. Why can‘t you listen?

Like when we went out for dinner and a little shopping last night. I told you how to dress, buttoned blouse, skirt, shoes could be your choice. No underwear. You could even wear one of my shirts if you wanted. When I got into the bedroom for my lighter, you were standing there. Blouse was OK. Ballet flats OK. Bra and Jeans. Fuck.

Change to what I told you to wear, I told you. Don’t provoke me, I told myself.

You gave me that look that said, Fuck you and the Horse your rode in on. You complained, again, that you are too busty to go braless. And that you wanted to wear jeans because some of the items we were going to buy were on the bottom shelf of the store were on the bottom shelf and you didn’t feel like flashing people your ass.

I don’t give a Flying Fuck about your bitching. When I tell you to dress a certain way, you are going to dress that way. Don’t fucking care, Bitch. Change.

Make me, you said.

I closed my eyes, you know that I’m in a mood, why are you provoking me. I just looked at you . Under the bravado was a touch of fear. You knew that I could, and would hurt you. I just walked up. Grabbing your blouse, I yanked it open. Buttons flew everywhere. You just smiled.

The smile disappeared when I pulled by lock back out of my pocket and thumbed it open. You stared at the sharp blade. I don’t know if you noticed when I grabbed the front of your bra. But you noticed when I put slipped the blade under the middle of the bra, right between your lovely 36Ds , and pulled up, slicing that little strap. Too bad it was the one you had just bought at VS, that blue and white lace one. Two more slices and the shoulder straps were cut too.

You looked up at me, fear, anger, fuck I didn’t know what was in your eyes. Didn’t care. I pushed you back, hard. You stumbled and flee back on the bed. Well, at least one thing went right tonight. I walked up, bent down and pulled off the flats. Then started unzipping the jeans. When you complained, I slapped you. You shut up. Good girl.

I peeled the jeans off of you. Cute pink thong. My head hurts, why couldn’t you even get this right? Don’t you pay attention? I had told you. Fuckin’ told you. I pulled the thong down too.

Looking down at you, lying there, blouse spread open down to your waist. Breasts on display. Nude from the waist down. Legs slightly spread. Beautiful. I got hard. I kicked off my shoes and started to strip my pants off.

No. No. you said. Don’t think about it, you said. I crawled up beside you on the bed. And stuffed the thong in your mouth to shut you up. You fought, but soon was gagged. When you tried to pull it out, I slapped your tits. Those sensitive tits. You stopped.

I grabbed your knees and spread them wide and up so your cunt was open. I gave it a quick stroke with my fingers, and pushed my cock up inside of you. And pounded. You were tight, a little dry, but soon got wet and juicy. I pumped my load into you. It felt good. If nothing else, you are a good fuck.

When I pulled out, I could see where my cum was leaking out. Seeing the thong still in your mouth, I reached up, and pulled it out of your mouth. You started to work your jaw, and I’m certain gonna bitch again, when your eyes went wide as I stuffed the thong up in your snatch. You closed your eyes when you saw mine. I could see your tears.

I pulled you up onto your feet. Pulling one of your jean skirts out of the closet, I threw it to you. You pulled it on and then looked down at the ruined blouse.

Stupid bitch, I called you. I rolled up the hem and tied it. Your breasts were (mostly) covered.

Ok, you said in a small voice.

Dinner and shopping were quiet activities. You didn’t provoke me, spoke only when spoken to. Stood there when I slipped my hand into your blouse and fondled your tits. Gasped a little when I pulled the thong out of your cunt in the parking lot by the truck. And whimpered when I finger fucked you. Were careful bending down to get things at Wal-Mart.

After we put things away, I pointed to the kitchen table. You had that Make Me look on your face for a second, then cowed and bent over it. I lifted the back of your skirt. I heard the gasp as I pushed some of the cold lube in your ass, lubricating your rosebud. And the sad sigh as I pushed my cock into your ass. I pumped, pushing you against the cold glass of the table. Until I came. I pull out and tell you to go up to the bed room, clean up, and go to bed. I’ll be up in a second. You looked at me, clothes and hair messed up. Your eyes glistening with tears. You went up the stairs.

I have one more smoke and two fingers of hooch before coming up. I glance into the bedroom. You’re in bed, the covers pulled up, on your side. I hear you cry, little soft whimpers and sobs. I am a little sad. I've hurt you, I've made you cry. I shouldn’t make you cry. I should be the one to protect you. But who can protect you from me?

I go back downstairs. Clean up, and sit in the kitchen smoking and drinking. And now, an hour before dawn. My head still hurts. I’m still in a mood.

I’m going back upstairs. Maybe you’ll wrap your arms around me again like you used to. When we first got together. You legs around my waist as I fuck you. Maybe I’ll find oblivion in your arms.

And maybe I’ll just use you again. Fuck you again. Hurt you again. And you’ll cry again.

I'm sorry, Honey.

SO