Forced to Sex Again

April 28, 2015, The Oaks, Corsicana, Texas:

I'm Tam Benford. Age 46. Married to Dolores Benford, who had recently become a temper fit-throwing shrew, as emotional cover-up for an increasing number of gang-bang fantasies being acted out at my expense.

I'd finally had enough.

About 10 AM, my brunette wife of some 41 years old, 7 of it married to me, appeared through the front door. She staggered a little, into the house's living room, smelling strongly of booze, sweat and spilled semen. Her hair was frizzled, with sticky, partially dried cum appearing in several places on her head and more on her well-displayed tits, one of which was half-out and the other, fully exposed: both were covered with love-sucks and her nipples on display were large, dark and distended, appearing well sucked, too.

Her sheath dress was on backwards, the tag showing in the front instead of hidden in the back. She had only one thigh-high net stocking, but as she staggered inside, I could see she was still wearing her CFM (Come-Fuck-Me) pumps with the 4" heels. No bra that I could see, and, I assumed, no panties either.

The sheath dress was very short, and I saw the beginnings of a little trail of whitish liquid drooling down her right inner thigh, the one without the stocking.

She croaked out, "Honey, we've got to talk. I've been forced to have a lot of sex!"

I replied, with more than a little bitterness, "Again?"

As usual, for the last couple of years, she started to yell, calling me dirty names and insulting me, saying that I was a dirty, male-thing with a tiny dick and not useful for her. Screaming that I was never around to protect her when she needed it. Screaming that she'd been attacked by 5 dirty, sweaty, fucking men, and been forced to have sex all night and morning, until they turned her out of their van on the side of the road ... conveniently near to her 'abandoned' car.

Etc., etc. etc.

I waited until she ran down a bit, then said, "You've been 'forced' 7 times in the past 4 months. Each time you've come home either really late at night or in the morning, like now. Each time, until now, when I've tried to hold you and cuddle, you've screamed even more at me, and then run upstairs to shower, douche and enema, then called a group of your 'special friends' to come over and 'keep you company' behind closed doors, while ordering me out of the house."

"Well, sorry but, no more! Keep your 'forced sexing' to yourself, this time, if you can."

That, as expected, caused even more rage and yelling, alternating with divorce-fantasy rantings about taking me for every dime I'd ever had or ever would have, leaving me naked, filthy and shivering in a cave.

I just laughed, which started the grand finale, as she kicked, stamped, fell to the floor, arched her back, pounded her fists and feet. She threw a full-fledged, uncontrolled tantrum, more similar to a 2-year-old than an adult middle-aged woman.

Finally, like all the other 7 times, she yelled at the top of her voice from the floor, "Get out! Don't come back!"

I filmed it all on a little videocam, of course. I agreed with her. Getting my small 'bug-out' duffel bag from the hall closet, containing my lap-top computer and flash-drives, I said, "OK, goodbye" and I left.

I wondered when she'd start to wonder how come I had such a bag, ready and waiting for my departure.

As I exited from the side door, to walk through the woodland next to our leased house, I heard the first of her 'special friends' arrive (the 2nd gang-bang crew in the last 24 hours, over for more fun and games). The first guy even had a key to get in our house.

That morning, working on-line, I'd taken my name off the credit cards plus the joint checking account and the savings account, both of which I added to substantially. I'd also deeded her the rent on the house for the next 4 months and gave her the car, keeping the records of each transaction. Records would show that I left with the clothes on my back and very little more, after being ordered out of what was suddenly her dwelling only.

Waiting about a hundred yards into the little forest, I picked up the rusty-appearing bicycle with its own rusty-appearing trailer. Packing the duffel bag to the trailer, I peddled off into the sunset, down a little dirt path, thinking happily that, with the cash in my 'bug-out' bag, I'd be ATM free for up to a year. Soon, when far enough away, I'd buy a small RV motorhome.

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April 29, 2015, The Oaks, Corsicana, Texas:

Dolores slept well, her cunt and ass still filled with the sperm of all her 'special friends' and of her truckers who would surely be ready for her next 'forcing' as well. Late in the morning, she showered and went into the kitchen for coffee. It was time for Tam to do their laundry. She called out, but got no answer. After a quick search of the house, she couldn't find her husband anywhere. That's when she remembered, like the last 7 'sexings', she'd ordered him out of the house. She thought, "well, he always comes home after a day or two, so I guess I'll have to do it myself." Shortly thereafter, she was drying white cottons that had suddenly become pink, after being washed with a red t-shirt.

Dolores threw another little fit, promising herself that he'd pay for this mistake, making him buy more white cottons to replace the pink ones.

The rest of the day, she phoned her friends and relaxed, well-fucked and lazy.

May 5, 2015, The Oaks, Corsicana, Texas:

Dolores was finally paying bills, writing checks and swearing at her absent husband. "He's never been gone this long. I'm gonna cut him off until he apologizes and starts treating me right again."

The phone ringing startled her, and, on answering, she was shocked to hear one of her woman friends yell at her about divorce, disease and even lawsuits. Something about her husband getting an STD from Dolores, then passing it on to the wife, who was now her ex-friend. A second call came in and then a third, both from wives of her 'special friends,'.

Chilled, both with anger and shame, Dolores started to go through the pile of past letters that Tam was supposed to have handled for her. She fought down the urge to pitch another temper, until she came across a letter, edged in red, detailing that she had a positive test for a STD, back 4 months ago, and that she must come to the clinic for immediate treatment. She screamed, "Tam, what have you done to me? How could you not let me know immediately. Why? ...".

Abruptly she remembered that Tam had, in fact, tried to get her to the clinic for some-such reason, but she'd been too wrapped up in her latest sexing to listen to him, and had forgotten about it. "Besides," she thought, "Tam hadn't had any sex with me after that time, which I was glad about, so I could concentrate on getting fucked by my friends all the time."

She called the clinic and got an immediate appointment. She had to drive herself there, though, because Tam nearly always drove her to her appointments and waited for her in the car.

"Where the hell is that man of mine, now, when I need him to do things for me?" she said aloud, as she drove herself there.

May 13, 2015, The Oaks, Corsicana, Texas:

Dolores slammed down the phone in a rage, after having the last of her 'special friends' break their 'date' with her, giving her all sorts of excuses. She was not getting fucked now, even though the STD treatments were under way and she'd bought condoms enough for everybody.

The grass of the front and back lawn was growing tall, and, without Tam to cut it, she'd have to do it herself. Getting out the little mower, she pulled on the cord until her arm ached, but it wouldn't start. At last, she checked the gas tank, which was empty. "Tam always worked on the mower. Why didn't he leave it to me full of gas and ready to mow?" She felt a temper beginning to build up, but fought it down. She drove to the closest gas station and got 2 gallons, having to pay cash because the gas card was temporarily full. It took all day for her to cut the grass, leaving her tired, sweaty and exhausted. She gasped, "Was this what you went through to keep things neat, Tam? Oh, God, I'm so achy and tired."

Later, at night, she started to cry a little, as her bed was so damned empty, even if she wasn't having sex with her Tam. "Damn him," she cried, "just because of all my 'sexing' and my 'special friends,' why did you have to go and walk out on me?"

She got cold and pale, as she suddenly realized that, back then, while she was lying on the floor, having a dry-eyed fit, he'd had a bag packed and ready for his exit. She cried at that memory, "Oh God, what have

I done?"

May 31, 2015, The Oaks, Corsicana, Texas:

Dolores had her final report from the clinic, that she was disease free. But, trying to call her former 'special friends,' she kept getting 'no-longer-in-service' notices. "Some friends," she thought.

She kept reading and re-reading the letter from her conservative church, detailing a meeting of the full church elders, who'd ex-communicated her over 'serial immoral behavior and deliberately spreading disease, including to the pastor and two deacons, recently fired from their positions.'

Her next 'sexing' hadn't happened, as the truckers hadn't showed up at their usual time. She was left standing at the corner of the truck stop, talking with the other whores and sluts there. She realized, too late, that she was a truck-stop slut, now, too.

Unable to shop in her section of town because of being slut-shamed, she'd had to start shopping at a strip mall all the way across town, driving there and back. "Oh, Tam," she cried aloud, alone, "I really need you now. I'm lonely. I'll fuck you silly. Please come home."

October 17, 2015, The Oaks, Corsicana, Texas:

Finishing packing, she saw her life in town had eroded away. Her house lease had not been renewed. She'd bought a small, used RV and had just completed loading kitchen and bathroom essentials. "Tam, oh, Tam. Please come back now," Dolores said to no one, "I'm so alone. I don't have any friends now. I've caused a lot of divorces. I can't go to church. No one will even talk to me. I had to sell the car and all our furniture. I lost most of my pretty things, too, when they wouldn't fit in the RV. I don't know where I'm going. I have to find a job soon. What am I going to do? You need to come find me, right now. I won't do any more temper stuff. I'm healthy again. I'll fuck you whenever you want. I'm so lonely. PLEASE find me and come back, to sleep with me and stay."

June 10, 2016: At an intersection of two state highways, near the town of Mart, Texas:

Two highway patrol cruisers sat, parked, as the officers had a final look around the scene. The crushed metal and burned bits had been removed and the roadway cleared. One commented to the other, "it looks like the two RVs came together at high speed, and just rammed into each other. Both single occupants were killed instantly."

The other officer mentioned, "We were able to get a partial ID of both drivers. Really strange, a man and a woman, apparently not related, but both named Benford."

—THE END—