Nothing to Offer

"Seeing if they stick to the wall," he said and she squealed in indignation, slapping him.

"Men are so gross, come on, what time's the bowling alley close?" Britney said, getting to her feet.

"Ten o'clock," Brian said, turning off the television. "Need to let Kathy where we're going?"

"She knows I'm over here; long as I'm with you, it's fine," Britney said, taking out her keys and preparing to lock the garage door after them.

"Takes a different key," Brian told her.

"Well, I need one then, oh, and a garage door thingy too," Britney said.

"Gee, why don't you just move in?" Brian teased.

"I am," she said seriously.

As they drove to Elgee, to the Super Sporting Goods store, Brian had to swerve to avoid a Lexus that came over into their lane, then over-corrected and almost went into the ditch on the side of the asphalt highway.

A few moments later, an ambulance screamed past, heading toward St. Elizabeth's Trauma Center.

"Oh, and hey, what you think about us getting our own balls?" Brian asked.

"Why? Don't you already have two of them?" Britney quipped.

Glen Peters screeched to a stop on the side of the road to let the ambulance scream past him then tried to remember where he was heading.

"Oh yeah, home," he said glumly.

He almost collided with a car that was travelling south on Highway 19, gave the bleating horn the finger and continued home.

Backing into the garage, Glen saw the still cracked sheetrock, so stopped short. He had actually stopped six feet short, so when he hit the 'DOWN' button on the garage door remote, it started, then went right back up. Again, he mashed the button and again it started to close, sensed the hood of the car and went back up again.

His previous happy, relaxed, warm state dissipated completely and he stormed over to the wall mounted panel. He punched in the code and held his thumb on the button.

Overriding the sensor , the door came down onto the hood of the expensive sedan and continued, crumpling in on itself.

"What's that noise, oh my God! Stop! Stop! Don't you see what you're doing? Are you insane?" Barbara flung the door open and started screaming.

"God damn, shut up!" Glen screamed at her. "Fuck! I'm not even in the fucking house yet and already you're screaming at me!"

"Of course I'm screaming! Look at what..." Barbara screamed and fell to the ground, stunned as blood started trickling out of her mouth.

"You hit..." she whispered, too stunned to fully comprehend the amount of pain her lower left jaw was feeling.

Glen felt a white hot rage spill over and he grabbed his wife's long brown hair and hauled her to her feet.

"Glen let me..." Barbara protested as he pulled her up the stairs and to their bedroom by her long hair.

Josette was whining about something and narrowly avoided her father's foot as he kicked out at her.

"Are you... Did you just try to..." Barbara screamed.

She cried out in pain as she was flung to their bed and tried to wiggle away as Glen jerked her polyester slacks down to her knees.

She screamed out in fear as her face was forced into the expensive lace comforter that she'd spent eight hundred and twelve dollars on.

She couldn't breathe as Glen, in an attempt to quiet her screaming, to kill the stabbing pain in his head, forced her face into the pillow top mattress she just had to have.

Just as blackness descended, Barbara felt Glen ejaculate into her pussy and suddenly she could breathe again.

"One word, just one God damned fucking word out of you," Glen hissed in her ear as he had a stranglehold on her throat. "One fucking word and so help me Jesus I will fucking kill you, understand?"

He shook her as she sobbed in fright.

"Do you fucking understand?" he screamed.

"Yes, yes, I understand!" she sobbed, hoping he would release her; breathing becoming quite difficult.

"Fucking God damned pain in the ass bitch; bust my fucking ass all God damned day, come home, not even in the fucking door yet and you're standing there screaming..." Glen snarled as he stormed out of their bedroom.

At the DeGarde Police Department, Sheriff Bob Chastaine pursed his lips as a call came in from St. Elizabeth's Trauma Center. He looked at his chart and called out to Officers Ritchie Himmer and Leanne Pyle.

"I don't care if the food is good, it's so degrading; those women gyrating around with no clothes on," Leanne was complaining as Ritchie wanted to go to the Dead End bar for dinner.

"Then what about Sweet Pea's, huh?" Ritchie asked, knowing he would win; they'd go to the Dead End.

"Bravo ten," Leanne responded when Sheriff Chastaine called for their location. "On twenty seven and Hickory, eastbound."

Bob gave them the address; Leanne affirmed that they were heading there and turned to Ritchie.

"Didn't we just..." Leanne asked.

"Yeah, dumb asses left their kid in the car all night," Ritchie agreed as he hit the lights and siren.

In his home office, Glen snorted some more of the magic stuff, but his adrenaline countered the effect of the drug and he felt more rage bubble up.

In the living room, Barbara tried to keep Josette occupied, keep the child quiet.

Barbara Naomi Siegel Peters had never known fear like this. Her husband was an animal. Her face throbbed, her vagina throbbed, and her head throbbed. She fought back the tears, trying to pretend to be happy. Josette was a very intuitive child; if she picked up on Mommy's fears, she'd start crying.

And Josette's crying might set off the deranged animal in the home office.

Suddenly Barbara heard a police siren and started whimpering. It wasn't her fault; she hadn't called the police, she ought to, but she hadn't.

But that monster in the office might not believe her.

Josette started whimpering too.

"Oh God no!" Barbara cried out when a sharp hammering came at the front door.

"God damn, what the fuck?" Ritchie said as they looked at the garage door and the hood of the Lexus sticking out the ruined door.

Then he knocked again, a little louder.

"Aw Jesus fucking Christ, did you..." Glen screamed down the hall toward Barbara.

No! No, I didn't!" Barbara cried out.

Josette started wailing.

"Shut that little fucking bitch up before I give her something to cry about," Glen snarled, marching, staggering to the front door.

Officer Ritchie Himmer had little regard for his partner. She was inexperienced and seemed incompetent. To date, he was her fifth partner and she'd only been with the department for seven months. Her four previous partners had threatened to quit if she wasn't transferred.

But Leanne got on the radio and contacted Sheriff Bob Chastaine, reported the physical evidence and within minutes of their arrival had a faxed search warrant in hand.

"Fuck you, no you can't look at..." Glen was screaming at Officer Himmer.

"Sir, step aside; we're entering the garage," Leanne barked, showing him the warrant.

"Suck my dick ugly ass fucking dyke," Glen sneered, advancing threateningly toward her.

He staggered back when she slammed the butt of her baton into his solar plexus.

Underneath Glen's car was a scrap of bright orange plastic, a shard torn violently from Edna Roebuck's safety vest.

**..**

"So we going bowling tonight? Or you still pouting because I beat your butt so bad last time?" Britney asked as Brian and Matt Rowland, his new employee set up the Kimble location.

"One time," Brian said to his laughing employee. "One time and it was what? Five points?"

"One thirty one to one twenty six! What was that? Oh yeah, one thirty one to one twenty six!" Britney whooped.

Britney and Brian were terrible at bowling. When either one broke one hundred, it was cause for celebration. Most of the employees of the local bowling alley found it amusing that two people that had their own balls, bags, and shoes were so inept at the sport.

Brian also bought Britney, and himself roller skates because Britney refused to wear skates that someone else had stuck their smelly old feet into. Because Brian refused to buy her a putter and set of balls, they did not go to the miniature golf park nestled in between the bowling alley and skating rink.

"I'll buy you gloves, how's that?" he asked. "You are not getting a titanium shaft putter."

"You're a mean boyfriend; I don't know why I love you," Britney grumbled.

Now, while Brian and Oscar Coutre established the network and router for the computer system and Brian also helped his new employee learn the machinery, Britney was underfoot.

"Don't you have furniture you can throw out?" Brian asked as he wiggled out from underneath the counter.

Britney smiled; crouched down like she was, she knew the legs of her baggy shorts gaped open, flashing Brian her newly waxed crotch.

Brian was referring to the fact that Britney had asked him if he had any sentimental attachment to any of his furniture. He had answered honestly; the only attachment he had to any of it was that it was already paid for.

So, after she kissed him and sent him off to work at Store Number One, Britney drove to the Home Depot in Elgee, rented a truck and picked up three men that loitered outside. After two hours, and after she paid the three men forty dollars each. Vincent De Paul's charity had old, but still quite serviceable furniture.

Then O'Neil's in Elgee delivered and set up the new furniture.

"Um, Baby, where did, who..." Brian stammered, looking at the brand new furniture.

"Daddy left me and Momma a bunch of money," Britney confessed.

She hugged Brian tightly.

"So I used some of it and got rid of anything from when Miss Barbara was here," she continued.

She looked up into his still overwhelmed eyes.

"That woman is never ever coming back here," Britney said forcefully.

Now, Brian wiggled out from under the counter, stood up, and swatted Britney on her plump backside.

"Instead of just standing around, getting in everyone's way, why don't you run down to Tommy's and grab lunch, huh?" Brian asked.

Britney's hand immediately shot out.

"What's wrong with that debit card in your wallet?" Brian smiled as he pulled his wallet out.

"I beat you at bowling; winners don't pay, silly," Britney said in total seriousness.

"I want..." Brian started to say.

"I know what you want; Mr. Oscar? What you want?" Britney said.

"Oh yeah? What I want?" Brian challenged.

"Large roast beef, no pickles. Mr. Oscar?" Britney said.

"Please tell me she's got an older sister," Matt asked as Britney drove away in the Malibu.

"No, but she's got a mom almost as pretty as her," Brian said.

"And we're in; want to see what Sally's looking at?" Oscar said as he tapped rapidly on the keyboard.

"Uh huh, she's checking her kids' facebook pages," Brian said as Store Number Three popped up on the screen. "That is one tough Momma Bear, you hear?"

"And Store Number One..." Oscar said.

"Uh huh," Brian said as a video of two women locked in a sixty nine popped up.

He dialed the number and Jimmy answered on the first ring.

"Professional Dry Cleaning; service comes first," he cheerfully said.

"Get out of that web site right now; you want to look at that shit do it at home," Brian said. "You know how many viruses are on porno web sites?"

"Yes sir," Jimmy said and the screen reverted to the Professional Dry Cleaning home page.

"Thank you, Jimmy," Brian said and hung up.

"And store number two is..." Oscar said and Brian nodded in satisfaction as Shelton was tallying up a rather large order for King Sanitation.

Brian smiled; Matt now knew without a doubt, that at any time, Brian could look and see exactly what Matt was doing on his computer.

"So, how old's her mom?" Matt asked when the Malibu pulled up.

"Forty; she was twenty when she and Jim adopted Britney," Brian said.

"Oh, she's adopted?" Matt asked.

"Yeah, Peggy, Kathy's baby sister had Britney and gave her to Kathy and Jim," Brian said and held the door open for Britney.

"That guy at Superior Motors said he'll give you twelve thousand on a trade-in," Britney announced. "There's this beautiful Ferrari; it's red with tan seats and..."

"We are not getting a Ferrari," Brian said firmly.

"But it would make this totally awesome birthday present for someone's drop dead gorgeous girlfriend who's turning twenty in two days," Britney wheedled.

"Britney, I know you don't hear this word very often, but I don't think you'll have any trouble understanding it," Brian said as he handed Matt his hot ham and cheese sandwich. "And the word is 'No.'"

"You're mean," Britney accused as he put her shrimp po-boy on the counter.

While the Kimble staff were eating, Glen was staring at the soft recessed lighting of the hospital room, listening to the soft whirr and beep of the machine he was hooked to.

When they'd brought him into the DeGarde Police Department in handcuffs, God, would his bitch of a wife ever stop screeching at him, at the police, would that bitch kid of hers ever stop whining? During the process, Glen had gasped in sudden, intense pain and collapsed. They determined he'd had a mild heart attack and rushed him to St. Elizabeth's Trauma Center.

The beep of the machine grew in intensity and Glen tried to think of anything else other than Big Butt Barbara and her snot faced kid.

"And here we go, Mr. Peters," a fresh faced kid said as she wheeled a foul smelling cart into the room. "Now the doctor wants you to eat light for a few days..."

"You know where I can score any coke?" Glen whispered to the girl as she put some unappetizing looking slop and a cup of clear broth on the table and swung the table over his bed.

"Coke? Well, you're not supposed to have caffeine; we're trying to..." the girl said.

"Not that, cocaine, blow, snow, get me now?" Glen hissed at the idiot.

"No. I most certainly do not know where you can get any of that," the girl said, all friendliness evaporating.

"God, what the fuck is this shit?" Glen asked, looking at his food for the first time.

"A lot better than what you deserve," the girl snapped, pushing the cart out of the room.

"Whatever, Holy Mary," Glen snapped.

"Everything all right?" a nurse asked, coming into his room and checking the machine he was hooked to.

"Y'all really expect me to eat this shit?" Glen asked, indicating his tray.

"No, expect you to leave it for the cleaning crew," the woman said evenly.

She turned to leave, seeing that the spike in activity was not life threatening.

"Eat it, don't eat it, we get paid the same amount. Have a nice day," she said and left the room.

He had no appetite so left it to cool and congeal on the table. A little while later, the same fresh faced kid wheeled the card in, ostensibly to take the empty plates. She shrugged at his bitter face, grabbed the untouched food and left.

In their home, after clearing away Josette's food, Barbara decided to enter Glen's sanctuary. She logged onto their bank account and nearly screamed. Once again, Glen had somehow let their finances slip; there was one hundred and four dollars and nineteen cents in their account.

The garage door would take eight hundred and seventy three dollars to replace; the technician had said it could not be repaired. He would have to replace it instead. She believed him; Daddy said the guy was honest and trustworthy.

Plus that, the man had smiled at Josette and called the child 'sugar booger boo' which made the three year old laugh.

Barbara had called their insurance man, a Ronnie Edwards with Young Insurance and nearly screamed. Glen had not paid the premium in six months.

"I'm sorry, ma'am; we sent y'all notices," Ronnie apologized. "I even called Mr. Peters but..."

Paul Robichaux had come out, looked at the sheetrock damage, made a few phone calls then finally said he could most likely just fill in the damage, rather than replacing the sheetrock. That, plus repainting the garage, his estimate had been three hundred and fifty dollars.

Again, Daddy said Paul was as good and honest a handyman as you would ever meet.

Barbara held her breath and called Ronnie back to see about the Lexus.

"No ma'am, the auto insurance is up to date on that one. He paid that in, oh, wait, Glen cancelled that in August on... Hello? Mrs. Peters?" Ronnie said.

"I would hope you die, Glen, but I'm sure there's no life insurance either," Barbara snarled at the computer screen that still showed a balance of one hundred and four dollars and nineteen cents.

**..**

Britney had something Barbara had never had; passion. When she and Brian made love, it was with passion and a desire to please the other, rather than a means to manipulate the other.

Britney had put her hair into two pony-tails, even though she thought it looked silly. Why? Because Brian had asked her to. Then, blushing hotly, knowing full and well that her body was a tub of fat, Britney had stripped out of her tee shirt and baggy shorts.

"Jesus, just looking at you, I swear I'm the luckiest man alive," Brian had said.

"Why?" Britney had snapped, not able to look at him. "Because your girlfriend's a fat pig?"

"No, because my girlfriend's beautiful," Brian had declared and hugged her tightly.

Britney had very little experience with members of the opposite sex, having done nothing other than some pretty passionate kissing and letting boys fondle her small boobs. At first, she thought a blow job was exactly that; you blew onto a man's cock until he ejaculated.

"Then why they call it a blow job if you suck on it?" she'd asked.

But she had absolutely thrilled at cock sucking. Brian had sworn she had an orgasm when he spurted his semen into her mouth. Since then, she delighted in seeing how fast she could make him come. Or, if he was trying to watch football, delighted in seeing how long she could drag out a blow job. She would suck and lick until he was writhing, then she'd stop and just tongue his balls, which he now kept smoothly shaved for her pleasure. Then, when his breathing was back to normal again, she'd again begin licking up and down his shaft, then suck the head into her mouth, slowly sucking in more and more of his cock until she had all of him into her mouth and the maddening ordeal would begin again.

"So what's the score?" she asked on more than one occasion and on more than one occasion, Brian had no earthly idea.

Britney loved having her pussy eaten. Brian thought for sure Kathy would hear the commotion and rush across the street to rescue her daughter.

Sixty nine was, in Britney's opinion, the most wonderful thing ever. She could lick and suck Brian's cock and swallow his delicious sperm while Brian sucked and licked her fat pussy lips and clitoris, and even tongue her sweaty, spicy anus.

The first time Brian had done that, Britney almost bit his cock off. Then she reached back, grabbed her fat ass cheeks, and pulled them wide apart for him to jam his tongue far into her anus. Then she tried to capture his cock with just her mouth, and finally, laughing, had to release one cheek so she could grab his cock and feed it back into her mouth.

When Brian introduced a finger to her rectum, thumb pressing against her fat little clitoris, Britney screamed in orgasm and bounced and shuddered, driving herself back to get as much of his finger as she could. Two fingers, thumb against her clitoris got the same reaction and three fingers jammed into her rectum reduced her to a blabbering wreck.

Actually letting him stick his fat cock into her anus, anal sex, however, was reserved for their wedding night, and then every night after that. That Britney declared firmly.

Vaginal sex, very rarely induced orgasm, but Britney still claimed it was her favorite. If they were in the missionary position, she would wrap legs and arms around him and suck long kisses from him, then whisper in his ear how much she loved him, how wonderful he was. If she was on top, she would gaze lovingly into his eyes and bounce up and down on his cock and tell him how much she loved and needed him.