by Writing Shark
A feeble attempt to escape fate
A soft, weary, perhaps somewhat annoyed sigh permeates the room. Grace Hoover has done nothing but sigh pathetically for the last six hours. She knows she is to blame for everything. And she knows what her duty is to her family.
In the last few weeks, she has done unspeakably horrible things. Things she can never undo again. She’d had more sex than she’d had in the previous two years combined. At least before she had stopped counting. But that’s not it. She hadn’t felt as good in the last two years as she had in the last few weeks, either.
Another sigh. Grace looks at the thoroughly set table, the dinner she has prepared for her husband. She has no problem cooking and working for him, even enjoys doing it. Of course, she feels guilty after all she has done to him, unknowingly, but still real. Now she has found a way to pay off the guilt to a tiny little extent, though not the all-consuming fear of having the knowledge of having done all those things willingly… and gladly.
And Harold is late.
This evening was supposed to signify their reunion as a loving couple.
And Harold is late.
Calm down Grace, she thinks to herself. You’re the monster here.
That’s the only victory she’s had against Mister James Winters. Grace is intelligent. She knows she can’t fight the man’s power and has found the only way he doesn’t completely control her. She is absorbed in her guilt.
Mr. Winters owns her desire for sex. He owns her orgasms. He owns her nature to serve and provide. And he owns her will to submit. To submit to a man who… Grace Hoover doesn’t quite get it yet, and that scares her. She knows that if he is in her life just one more time, she will do the most horrible thing a mother can do. The most brutal thing a wife can do to her husband.
And she will enjoy it.
But Grace has a plan that it will not come to these horrendous things.
But Harold is late.
“Honey, I’m home.” His voice sounds tired but still friendly. That’s how she knows him. Harold is a good man.
“Hi honey,” she says, standing in the doorway. Harold sees her in her skimpy white dress and his eyes fall out of his head. It’s a real shock and Grace smiles delightedly, but then notices that her husband’s look doesn’t change to an affectionate gesture. “What happened?” she asks, more out of confusion at the harsh reaction to her white dress. Harold, after all, can’t suspect that even the piece of cloth is a desperate gesture to break away from James…Mister Winters, sir, Master, and bind herself to Harold. Mr. Winters had told her how fuckable she would look in that dress. If he ever set eyes on her again then she should wear this dress. At home Grace had sworn not to let it come to that. Harold should take her in this dress. But Harold looks like he remembers something bad. “Honey?”
“It’s nothing,” he waves it off, and then comes the smile Grace was hoping for. “It was just a rough day at work. You look fantastic honey. What did I do to deserve this?” Grace is glad Harold didn’t catch on to her betrayal of their otherwise perfect marriage. She is the one who broke their mutual promise and Harold deserves an apology from her. The teacher doesn’t realize she’s teaching the lesson topics Mister Winters taught her.
“We haven’t seen each other in a long time,” the woman whispers, stepping toward her husband. “The last few weeks have been hard and exhausting for me. But you’ve always been there for me.” Grace hugs her husband, not seeing his guilty looks. And Harold doesn’t see her usually well-behaved smile diminish as she licks her lips. “I was thinking we could make tonight all about us? Valerie’s with her friends. We have the house all to ourselves.” Then she steps back from Harold and turns in a circle in front of him. Then she reaches beside her. Her face turns crimson with shame… and lust. “And I was thinking we could…try something new?”
It’s horrible. There’s no other word for it. Grace is close to tears, but can’t show it.
“Yeah… keep it up… fuck me… Mister Hoover…” The schoolgirl outfit fits her like a glove, even if it fills her with shame. But her cunt… no, Mister Winters had called it that. Her vagina is wet and ready, more than that, it is open and willing for her teacher’s cock… penis. Her breasts hang out of the tight white shirt and jiggle while Harold bends her over the kitchen table and fucks her from behind, her arched. Luckily, the sex store Grace had sneaked into, trembling with fear, didn’t have the same colors as her school. If so, would she have chosen the colors? Grace doesn’t know, too confused and afraid. It was easier with James, she knows. But she doesn’t want to think about that, even though it’s the only clear thought in her head. “Fuck me Mister Hoover… yes… I’ve been such a naughty girl and I need to be punished.”
And it’s really supposed to be a punishment for her. And it feels like it, kind of. Harold hammers into her from behind as James did… but still not exactly like that. He’s smaller. He’s weaker. He’s… Grace feels like he’s holding back. She knows the school uniform might not have been the best idea, but her loins burn at the thought of a naive girl confiding in a more powerful man. And when she thinks of the more powerful man demanding tasks from the girl to prove her worth… Even under the soft thrusts of Harold’s hips she feels a drop of pleasure running down her leg. This usually only happens with Mister Winters.
But Harold is not James. He’s not as stiff and hard as James, but even without the unfair comparison, Harold is almost limp between her hot and tight labia. James would have already brought me to orgasm… several times. No! I can’t think about him! Harold is the man she loves. Not the man who raped her.
“Is it the uniform?” She doesn’t want her voice to betray disappointment, but she can’t manage it. Grace feels weak and helpless, just as Harold is weak and helpless. The two of them fit together, once… and now. Grace can’t push it out of her mind. They used to be a couple together, now they are united in their helplessness against a strange man who has them both in the palm of his hand.
But Grace has a way out. She doesn’t have to be weak and helpless. She can be happy and helpless.
“Yes…” murmurs Harold, but he doesn’t sound convinced. He looks so downtrodden… almost ridiculous with his belly line, short legs, and slender arms. Grace feels sick to her stomach. From the sight of him and the monster she has become. But her cunt rules her life from now on. And James rules over her cont.
She can’t put James Winters out of her mind. She can’t deny that sex with him makes her an addict, dependent and subjugated.
She had tried to resist him. She lost.
“I have another outfit.”
Writing Shark 