"Flicker to Flames"

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Word count: 3000+ (with permission)
Prompt: The old flame

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"Flicker to Flames"
By: Sugaree

         I’ve heard it said many times that two wrongs don’t make a right, but this wrong sure did quench my thirst. My husband and I were having some real serious issues that had elevated to discussions of divorce. Our miserable days left a funky aroma neither of cared to tolerate but I was forced to.

         Sex used to calm us down, make us rethink our behavior. But, towards the end, it was unthinkable, unimaginable that I would ever let him touch me, let alone become one in marital bliss. During the week it was very easy to avoid him since he worked third and I worked first shift. When our love was sweet, I used wait in bed for him every single morning.

         It was only thirty minutes past midnight but my gut instinct allowed me the visions of my husband and his ex-wife wrinkling the sheets. I imagined that they’d gone to a town unfamiliar for this escapade. I rang his cell phone several times until three o’clock in the morning to no avail. I cried and drank most of the time and cursed the rest. I drank until my eyes could focus no more. I drank myself into a violent and dangerously jealous rage. With each sip my violent gauge elevated.

         Soon I began thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong with that imagined union. I imagined that the old flickers had turn to flames. The old flame would convince him that he needed to be with her and their children. He would agree and leave me for her, the way he had once before. I imagined him breaking me down to my knees begging him not to leave me, the way I had before. All of that past hurt became fuel for the rage that nearly destroyed every item in our house, not to mention an innocent man’s freedom.

         I dialed every contact I could think of. That was pointless. No one admitted or perhaps they really did not know. One of his acquaintances answered the last number I dialed from his phone book.

         "Hello. Is Chuck there?" I tried desperately to hide the emotions obviously apparent in my voice.

         “I saw him earlier. Some lady was in his car. I thought it was you but I guess not, huh?”

         “No shit, Sherlock.”

         “Skyla, calm down, baby. Do you want me to come over? You don't sound well”

         “No, that’s ok and I'm not your baby. I’ll be alright,” I managed between pitiful sobs.

         “You know, I really hate to hear you sounding like this. I’m coming anyway.”

         “No, I said! I’m fine” This time the firm tone in my voice was another level of dementia. I threw the phone against the wall and continued to sob until my stomach un-nerved and regurgitated its contents. I regained composure then a fury overcame me that I’d never known prior.

         I looked at the coffee pot that I faithfully turned on to brew him fresh coffee in the morning, noon or night. I stared at the table that I faithfully placed his at least five course gourmet meals on daily. Anger practically picked my foot up to kick over the beautifully sculptured lamp that we purchased on our honeymoon in Brazil. I looked at the art and artifacts we tediously chose to accentuate our ten thousand dollar leather furniture that so gracefully posed in our cathedral skylight ceiling great room.

         By four a. m. and my fifth glass of our special blend of Canadian whiskey, I was convinced that I would be damned if ‘she’ would ever enjoy the pleasures of my hard work. I was convinced that he had enough money to fight me in court and win everything and that the two of them would live happily ever after leaving me looking like the fool I must be to have gone back to him.

         With one swipe across the kitchen counter, the contents crashed to the floor. Shattered glass and electrical appliance part scattered about. The glass-topped table hit the marble floor with one furious shove.

         Weak with turmoil, I collapsed moaning and agonizing over what I knew was happening and there was nothing that I could do about it. I stopped crying just long enough to see blood drip from an undisclosed location down my face mixed with tears. I attempted to wipe it away with my hands only to find that they were also bleeding.

         I grabbed the window seal attempting to stand. More blood dripped, this time down the side of the wall. I didn’t feel any pain. I continued pulling myself until I was standing. I looked at my bloody feet. Instead of me fearing that I was loosing too much blood, I became even more enraged. “None of this shit would be happening if that no-good two timing bastard ass husband of mine were here loving me instead,” I rationalized then continued my destructive duties.

         A slight tap on the kitchen window startled me. I turned to see who it could be at this late hour forgetting that Marcel had insisted on coming over. His insistant beating on my window pain irritated me to yet another level of satanic fury.

         “Get the fuck away from my house! Now! I didn’t ask for your help,” I yelled and threw a marble paper weight in the direction of the noise that was immediately followed with a crash.

         “If you don’t open you’re gonna force me to have to call for help. Better yet, I'll just come through this broken window.”

         “You fuckin’ criminal, that I know you wont do. Now go away!”

         “Look, my conscious wont let me leave you in this condition. Just let me check to see if you’re ok and then I’ll leave. Please, Sky?”

         “Alright,” I said as I walked to the nearest door, which was just off of the sunroom.
Marcel rushed in and went directly to the linen closet next to the guest room he’d previously slept in one evening while he was hiding from someone. I had gathered that it was the police.

         “Woman, what in the world have you done? Look at this place!”

         “You said that you came to see about me. You see that I’m fine now leave.”

         “Not until I see if these cuts need stitches or something, Skyla. Just relax and come in the bathroom where the light is brighter, would you?”

         I limped in there feeling faint. I must have stumbled a bit too much and before I knew it, I was in his arms that I'd never noticed were so muscular and strong. I felt relieved and sad all at once. The mixed emotions softened my tongue. I was no longer cynical.

         I let him wash my face with the damp towel. I let him pull my torn, bloody blouse off to inspect me. I let him pull me close to him as I cried upon looking at myself in the mirror. He held me until my sobs became small whimpers. He continued inspecting my body. He motioned me to sit on the toilet so that he could tend to my feet. He pulled a piece of glass out then wiped them both clean.

         I sat free of my outer clothes at his mercy since the rage was now gone and the pain had set in. My feet were throbbing and oozing blood everywhere. It was impossible for me to walk. Marcel noted that and cradled me in his arms once again like I was his woman, his baby. My body was playing serious tricks on me. I could feel the rouse from his gentle care right in the center of my vagina. The power of the pain and horniness were too much. I couldn’t tell one from the other.

         Marcel carried my now limp body into my den then laid me on the couch. We sat quietly gazing into each other’s eyes. There was no need for any words. His lips came toward me and mine his. We met in sheer ecstasy. Every part of me that was not hurting was feeling him. He kissed me until I collapsed onto my back with him on top. His heavy short breath told the story of lust. He pushed his tongue even deeper into my mouth. I received him well and willingly.

         I felt a bulge that had to be some sort of huge weaponry. It was just that hard and big. I could not imagine that a penis could be that size. I pushed him off in fear of it going off, while offended that he’d put me in that kind of danger.

         “What’s wrong?”

         “What is that in your pants, Marcel? Why would you get on me with that?”

         “You—oh, I see. You think this is a gun? Yeah, it’s a gun alright and I’m getting ready to aim it right at you,” he chuckled aloud then began to release the contents of his pants.

         My mouth dropped open in an amazed gape as he pulled a long and thick mass of uniquely designed flesh out. My shocked and opened mouth was replaced with the warmth of that very amazing flesh. I didn’t refuse.

         My mouth stretched to accommodate the well-endowed piece that took on a life of its own as it pulsated against my hungry tongue. I salivated like the bitch in heat I had become. I could feel the moisture gathering deep inside of my vivacious punany preparing to spill in the essence of such anticipated pleasure.

         It was obvious at this point that this was about to become an x-rated scene right inside of me and my husband’s home. This made my taste buds dance about his penis even more until saliva and pre-cum dripped down my chin unto my bare skin. My urge to have him inside must have been telepathic because he removed my tightly fitted lips from his magnum opus and beckoned me to assume the doggie-style position. His husky masculine voice boomed in my ear, “Turn around and take this treat that's been missing in yo’ life, baby.”

         I complied as his humungous hands slapped my buttocks then positioned me to endure his meat. I pulled one of the loose throw pillows beneath me to brace myself for this massive intrusion. The feeling was surreal. I cringed in pain and ecstasy once more. Every thrust evoked a liquid spasm out of my control.

         This time reality stuck me where it really counted. I attempted to collapse from the intensity of the thrust but to no avail. Marcel was in too deep. My eyes rolled and my head tossed from side to side. He pulled my torso against my physical will knowing that this pain would soon turn into pure pleasure. I could not handle the pressure of a fourteen inches and attempted again to collapse. He pushed even harder. I screamed. He stopped. I begged for more. He gave it to me until I was able no more.

         “Please, just let me finish giving you head. I can’t handle all of that right now. It's just too much, too big. What are you? Part horse?.”

         “No. You just need to relax and take it like the real woman that you are. You can do it baby. I’ll take my time in that tight ass sweet thang you got there. Come on. You just don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to hit this,” he pleaded.

         Although I did hear his admittance of a lie that he’d witnessed my husband with his old flame, the pleasure that he was giving me did not allow it to sink in right then. I continued backing up to his deep pumps. He was well aware of his weapon he wielded in the moment of lust riddled deceit.

         “Ok, but not so hard. Let me get used to it, Mr. Ed!” I shot him a wicked yet sensual smile then bent over to assume my female k-9 position. This time pure lust took over sending shivers through out my entire body extracting the necessary lubricants needed to continue this forbidden carnal act.

         I could feel my body trembling as if I was engaged to a mild case of epilepsy. My mouth uttered unknown terms of delight and began thrusting back to meet his powerful and sweet ass dick over and over again.

         All too soon the melodic sounds of my moans and his grunts filled the room leaving us vulnerable to my husband’s approach. Marcel was reaching depths inside me my body I had never known to exist. We continued until both our bodies shook and crashed into one another.

         We were so engrossed that neither were the wiser of spying eyes bestowed upon us by my husband as we blissfully rested. This, to my dismay, I would find out later.

         I was a fiend for him all too soon. I so needed more. I stroked and suckled the flaccid tissue until it was pleasingly plump once more as Marcel relaxed on the couch with me crouching between his masculine legs caged around my thin waist. I heard the jangle of keys. We both jumped to attention. Marcel put his clothes on and left out the back way setting the alarm off.

         I put my panties on and threw my bra in the dark corner. To my surprise, Chuck was already inside as I exited the den where I had just been exceedingly bad. He couldn’t see me since all of the lights were off in this entrance so I ran back to sit on the couch. I was not sure of the expression I read on my husband’s face. I was not sure that he wasn’t angry at the scene of the broken contents of our house, or if he’d seen Marcel and I.

         I was just going to have to take my chances and curse him out first. One thing for sure, I knew that he’d been with his old flame cause Marcel confirmed it as he held me while I cried in agony of the situation.

         My husband knew that I was not the type of woman to turn the other cheek. I’ll have to assume that he was not expecting revenge so swift though. Well, I guess in this case, since my cheeks had literally been a massive amount of cock, I should have been saying, ‘excuse the pun’ to dear hubby if indeed he had seen us.

         Instead, I wiped my mouth free of the liquid lust and began shouting of his late entrance, and rose to meet him with venomous accusations.

         “You’ve been with that bitch haven’t you? Yeah, the old flame got yo’ ass into some real heat on this night, huh? Why the fuck are you just coming home? You don’t do this any other day, just so happens that bitch is in town and you’re no damned where to be found you stupid punk ass bastard!”

         My lips just wouldn’t, couldn’t stop. I wondered where all of this was coming from. I should have been wondering if fear for my life would ever kick in and save me from the trauma I was sure to experience. There was something new about my husbands eyes. They were like hot lasers piercing me. Something was wrong.

         I ran to the living room to grab a piece of the thick glass from the broken table, not caring that it cut my own hand, then charged at him. Of course his male strength wouldn’t allow such an attack. He knocked me straight the fuck out.

         I awoke inside of a mental complex with deep laseration on my wrists. One of the doctors that observed my strapped down body said, “Welcome back to the living. You've lost alot of blood” I attempted to speak back only to find that my jaws were wired from an emergency surgery they’d done to secure my jawbone back in its proper place.

         I tried to scream and free myself but all too soon the nurse handed the doctor a syringe filled with a medicine that put me back to sleep.

         The next time my eyes opened, my husband stood over me. I tried to scream again. I needed someone to know that he’d done this to me. I thought I'd been dreaming that he was telling the police that Marcel had burgularized his home and raped his wife.

         I heard him say, "She just didn't want to live after this attack and sliced her wrists before I could get to her." I was not dreaming. He was actually plotting this pernicious act of revenge.

         I heard him tell the officer that neighbors heard me screaming and loud bangs ocassionally. When asked why they had not called 911, they mentioned that we always fought lately. One neighbor reported seeing a man of Marcel's description at my window near four that morning attempting to get in. That person said that he just thought maybe someone had gotten locked out.

         I tried to scream yet again. Instead, the nurse called for assistance and I was sedated. This time the sedative only calmed me. I was able to listen to the words that were coming out of my husband’s lips.

         He told me that it would be in my best interest not to tell what happened that morning since the police had evidence of me slitting my wrists.

         “They’ll probably commit you. They’re just keeping you here for you own safety right now. They know how stressed you must be about all that's happened to you. After all, they did see your swollen labia and obvious forced entry from Marcel raping you,” he threatened.

         My eyes must have told the story. My husband simply smiled and asked if I really wanted to protect Marcel's life with the truth and loose my own. The look in his eyes sealed the truth that he would kill me. He had already planted the idea in the police's head that I was afraid of Marcel.

         "Either way they're going to believe me and my witnesses. They're going to believe that you're in shock...poor little victim of rape, you fucking slut! Just think, if I hadn't seen this with my own eyes, those very lips would have been on mine," he continued to whisper in my ear.

         The officer poked her head inside of my door.

         "Just one more minute, Officer." He waited until the door closed completely. "You do know that Marcel was on parole and that no matter what you say in his defense, he wont be out for a long time anyway, right? His evidence is everywhere, including inside of your sweet little cunt, bitch. Now, I'd advise you to do the right thing."

         I recalled the disarray I’d left and decided to agree with him. I remebered that Marcel's prints would be on my window and doors and me. Yes, his delicious 'DNA' was too. When the police and doctors came for my side of the story, I admitted to them that a burglar had done this to the house and me. They asked me about the four karat wedding ban my husband had told them I was not wearing upon his finding me. I looked at my finger and sure enough it was not there. I looked through squinted eyes at my husband as I admitted to the robbery.

         “Ma’am,” the pale faced puny cop said. “We’re going to let Officer Tandy ask you a series of questions pertaining to your rape. We understand if you don’t want to talk about it right now. That’s why we’re going to let a female officer handle this part. I just want to let you know that we have taken samples of the DNA and your nieghbors have identified your assailant. He is in custody.”

         I tried very hard to speak but the wires and the tongue depressant would not allow words to escape. I began to frantically toss my head from side to side in hopes that someone could read my reactions. Instead, my husband asked the officer to leave again for some privacy to explain to me the importance of this report. She stepped outside of the door instead of looking into my frightened eyes.

         "Oh, I forgot to tell you that they found a pound of heroine in Marcel's house when they went to detain him. Hmm, wonder how that got there?" He laughed and continued. "Hmm, the very herione they found in your system. He must have drugged you while you were out so that he could handle his business, right?"

         With his face close to mine, and fingers directly on my throat, I agreed again. His maniacal tone sent chills through me.

         "When the officer comes back in, you just nod yes to everything. Is that clear? And, by the way, I was with my old flame. She doesn't quite give head as good as you, but 'we' will be teaching her. She is moving in?”

         My husband stepped over to the door then beckoned the sensitive crimes officer back to my side for me to lie and put the best sex I’d ever had in my life away forever. I needed to think fast. It was very difficult to do with him standing there with his maniacal smile. My hands were still strapped as I admitted that I was suicidal from the trauma caused by none other than the reputed drug lord criminal, Marcel McGreggor.

Just one more Sugaree time, again
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Part Two Coming Soon right here @ Writing.com!