Sleep of the Guilty

The Hospital... The Surgeons... All working tirelessly trying to repair his battered face... 'But Jimmy would never find out. Sandra would never tell him.....would she'?

He was in uncharted waters, swimming in a sea of emotional tides and turbulent currents, riding the waves of an unpredictable storm and wasn't really sure what to do.

There was a great deal of nervous excitement and an apprehensive tension at the true reality of what they were about to undertake.

'But there was still time to stop this.'

Concerned for his wellbeing, part of him wanted to end it now but another part of him was drawn to the danger, excitement and the emotional challenge of a sexual wanting woman.

The warmth of her sensuous mouth sliding down his throbbing flesh eroded any indecision from his mind.

"Fuck it," he sighed, aware that hormonal turmoil had now taken control of his senses, purging his brain and making it impossible to think logically. He knew he was sinking fast but he had convinced himself that Jimmy would never find out.

A whisper of hair brushing over his thighs, the persuasion of an eager head and a hungry mouth brought him back to reality.

She worked the long shaft like a talented artist, sucking him in and swallowing him deep, feeling it touching the back of her throat, easing him out, dragging her teeth on the way back, wiggling her tongue inside the small eye, tasting his sticky arousal, bathing the glistening head in a wash of saliva until her jaw ached and she had to let him slip from her mouth to take in air.

This was Sandra's new toy and she was going to play with it.

Gripping the meaty length with both hands, moving in slow measured strokes, pulling the foreskin in an upward action, watching the loose white skin sliding over the smooth head, easing her grip on the downward stroke, up and down, fast and slow, pulling and releasing, staring at the bulging veined beast throbbing in her hand.

Sandra adored her new toy and she had no intentions of letting it slip from her grip.

A familiar moistness pooling between her legs, her radiant eyes filling with raw lust, a heart slamming inside her chest, every nerve in her body charged with electric pulses, an urgent desire to have his long thick cock filling the depths of her inner core.

Grunts and moans followed pants and gasps, hips moving to persuasive urges, the sticky substance oozing from the swollen eye and coating her fingers, his legs stiffening, euphoric mutterings and gestures of movement indicating that his body was preparing for ejaculation.

An insistent voice echoed in his ear.

"Don't you dare come....I want fucked tonight."

The authority in her voice made him shuffle in the seat, confusion rattling around inside his head, searching for words of apology....The right words....Any words.

"Okay," he replied, casually lifting his shoulders. "Do you want it in the front....or in the back....or shall we...?" he mumbled, his voice fading against a serious face staring back at him and an uncompromising voice demanding action.

"I want you inside me," she snapped. "I don't care where it happens. I just want fucked."

Two hearts beating in a frenzied rhythm of lust and expectation, two heads flooding in a sea of hormonal urgency, frustrated sighs following impulsive gestures, clothes cast aside with reckless abandon.

By the time they hit the back seat they were naked, overheated and primed for action.

In the dark enclosure the vision before his eyes exceeded his wildest imagination.

Moonlight shadows played over milky white skin, outlining a delightful curvy body, a peach shaped bottom, smooth long legs and an amazing pair of tits that couldn't be ignored. Parting the soft fleshy lips of her labia, sliding a finger between the slippery flaps and folds, moans and groans and gasps of encouragement hissed through clenched teeth.

"That's so fucking good. How many fingers have you got in there?" she asked, an impatient order quickly following.

"More fingers," she pleaded. "And push faster and deeper," she insisted.

Slipping two fingers inside her burning heat, followed by a third and then a forth, fingers knuckle deep inside her inner sanctum, stretching her body with brutal force, moving her hips and thrusting forward, swallowing greedily, fucking his hand, moaning and groaning, puffing and panting, gasping and wheezing, the sloppy wet sound between her legs increasing her stimulus and bringing her body to life.

Sandra was hot. She was wet. She was ready for cock.

Discomfort giving way to necessity, the vinyl seat cool against his buttocks, the feint slithers of moonlight casting phallic shadows inside the car, her eyes drawn to his more than ample length and substantial girth, wondering if she would get it all inside.

She was going to find out.

Shuffling on the seat and straddling over his thighs, hovering precariously on both knees, opening her legs and adjusting her body for entry, lowering a hand and gripping the fleshy limb, a guiding hand easing him in inch-by-inch, lifting and lowering in a chorus of moans and groans and breathless pants, her inner walls opening, making way for the gruesome muscle to slide inside her warm entrance.

There wasn't a lot of flexibility in the back seat of the car, the confined space forcing them into unfamiliar territory, making the sexual act frustrating and sometimes a little clumsy.

The muscles of her vagina embraced the length and gripped the girth like a vice, her body moulding to accept the brutal entry, his overexcited cock slipping out occasionally, an eager hand quickly guiding him back.

Sucking in short gasps of air through tight lips, a body trembling in shock waves of blissful sensation, lifting and lowering over the perilous length, easing him in and easing him out, twisting and wriggling, up and down, joining and separating, growling through a throaty wheeze, the brutal force stretching and filling the vaginal vault, probing and penetrating the parameters, reaching the limits of her inner heat.

A mutual connection of coital intimacy, the persuasion of movement, bouncing up and down with increasing determination, lifting and lowering, easing him in, easing him out, all the way in and all the way out, thrusting her hips and wriggling her bottom, embracing the awesome length, rejoicing in the exceptional girth, her pendulous tits swinging recklessly from side to side, reaching out with his hands, cupping one and squeezing the other, kissing one and sucking the other, fingers teasing nipples, pulling and tugging, twisting and nipping, her painful cries of pleasure lost in the heat of passion.

Impaled on the fearsome object, sucking in air through her nose, her eyes watering, the rapture of euphoria flooding inside her body, moving her hips in a seductive rhythm of pleasure, snorting in curses and breathless gasps of encouragement, shifting her weight, making sure she was receiving everything he had to offer.

A frustrated sigh of discomfort, her legs unable to support her weight, an impulsive movement lifting up slowly and letting his penis slip from her body, no words just persuasive gestures motioning him to change position.

It was difficult at first but with a little adjustment she managed to kneel on the seat on all fours, with both hands gripping the car seat.

She turned her head and looked back, her watchful eyes following a trail down his chest and over his muscular abdomen, gazing in lustful admiration when she reached her playful toy. Opening her legs and gritting her teeth, shuffling on the seat and bracing herself for action, a chorus of verbal demands and filthy curses brushing away formality.

"Fuck me until I tell you to stop," she barked. "You don't have to be gentle. I want to be fucked fast and I want to be fucked hard."

One foot on the floor and a knee hovering precariously on the car seat, one hand gripping his cock and the other holding her waist to give him leverage, breathing in the musky smell of sex, easing the throbbing flesh between the warm wet folds of her vulva.

Pulses throbbed, heart beats raced and senses buzzed and hummed, a libido in overload, his teenage stamina unrelenting and delivered without mercy, thrusting his hips back and forth in a wild and ferocious shafting, the obscene length reaching places she didn't know she had.

Grunting out their pleasure in an exchange of filthy curses, pushing in and pulling out, two bodies joining and separating, entering and retreating, in and out, hard and fast, skin smacking skin, beads of sweat dripping from his brow, disappearing between the cheeks of her bottom, a merciless and unforgiving fuck, a canine demonstration of brutal force, a bruised and battered body ravaged without remorse.

A body responding to euphoric sensation, a surge of blissful euphoria consuming her body, helpless cries joining a collective rhythm of whispered moans and breathless pants, an outburst of crude profanities lost in the echoes of their carnal arena.

Almost in tears, each moan, each cry and every sound adding to her moment of pleasure, her body twitching, jerking and stiffening, spasms of euphoric bliss flooding through her tortured body, reaching every nerve and stimulating her senses.

Hanging on a precipice of orgasmic heights, pushing back to meet the force, driving him deeper and deeper, grunts suffocating moans, words pleading through tight lips.

"FUCK ME! FUCK ME....FASTER! FASTER! HARDER! HARDER! FUCKING HURT ME!" she screamed. "I'm Fucking Coming....I'm....I'm Coming.....I'm Coming," she gasped, the mantra repeating in a chorus of piercing cries, moans and groans joining the momentum of give and take, muscle contractions vibrating before exploding in an ocean of pulsating waves, a violent cascade of ultimate release consuming her body, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Fluids of passion spilling in rivers down her thighs, the flaps and folds wet with arousal, the entrance warm and welcoming, two bodies fused in perspiration, moving back and forth to impulsive urges, buttocks clenching and relaxing, skin against skin, genitalia embracing genitalia, thrusting faster and harder, pushing deep, sliding in fast, pulling out slow, in and out, hard and fast, battering and bruising her body with brutal determination.

Groaning out his pleasure through grunts, curses and breathless wheezes, reaching the summit of no return, his boiling testicles exploding in a crescendo of uncompromising force, firing a copious amount of molten hot lava from his balls and into his straining organ, erupting from the eye with the force of a volcano, sending a tide of white sticky ballast shooting indiscriminately against the inner walls of her most treasured place, flooding the cervix in a never ending torrent of continuous bursts until his precious reserves were empty and his softening penis slipped from her body.

Peeling away his sweat soaked body, collapsing in a heap on the back seat of the car, pooling in each other's perspiration and breathing in urgent gasps, two hearts beating franticly in the darkness, trying to get precious oxygen into their lungs.

A crippling silence and the aroma of overheated sex filled the air with haunting trepidation. No eye contact. No gestures. No words. Just grunts and sighs as they fumbled nervously in the darkness, gathering clothes from the floor and forcing smiles that quickly faded.

It was almost two in the morning when she drove the car out of the sea front car park. Neither of them said very much, but it was evident by the contented smile on Sandra's face that one of them had enjoyed their night of betrayal.

The guilt and deceit hung like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. He frowned and sighed but he couldn't smile. In fact, he didn't think he would ever smile again, especially after Jimmy Boyd had finished with him.

Tracing a finger over his face, touching his nose, his eyes and lips, wondering what kind of shape they would be in after Jimmy gets through with him.

He took a moment to study his reflection in the car window.

'How can you smile when you have no teeth?' he thought.

A whispered voice and an outstretched hand with a cigarette broke the silence.

The first intake made him cough but that didn't matter. He had other things on his mind. 'Fuck it, every condemned man is granted a last request. After all what more had he got to loose. The nervous tension and anxiety had probably set him on the path to becoming a confirmed smoker. And now he was heading home to confront a man who he had just betrayed. And that man was Jimmy Boyd, a self-confessed homicidal maniac, a man who enjoyed inflicting pain on people before beating them unconscious.

He nervously chewed the inside of his mouth.

About a mile away from the house, Sandra pulled the car to a halt and cut the engine.

The haunting reality swept through his body in a suffocating nausea, beads of sweat forming on his brow and on the palms of his hands, his face twisting in a contorted mask of dread, the contents of his stomach threatening to make an appearance,.

"Don't worry, Mark," she said, with assurance, kissing the side of his face. "Remember what we talked about. Follow the plan and everything will be fine....Trust me."

The kiss and her words of assurance didn't make him feel any better and neither did the inevitable confrontation with Jimmy.

The option of joining the French Foreign Legion suddenly looked promising.

A comforting hand squeezing his thigh broke his reverie.

"As soon as I've parked the car on the drive, I'll go straight to my bedroom. Once Jimmy knows I'm home, he'll let you out of the boot."

A glance in a compact mirror, refreshing her bruised mascara and lipstick, a confident smile forming words he didn't want to hear.

"It's time to get back in the boot."

The ominous sound of the key turning in the lock and the haunting click of the boot opening made his entire body tremble with fear, bringing hundreds of small goose-pimples surfacing on his arms and legs. He was no trained actor but he knew as soon as Jimmy opened the car boot he would have to give the performance of his life.

Even in the darkness surrounded by a million stars he could still make out the shadowy outline of Jimmy's threatening physique staring down at him, his penetrating eyes ready with questions and a bitter face demanding answers.

"Help me out, Jimmy, for Christ sake," he cursed.

Once he had his feet firmly on the ground he quickly slipped into character, feigning a limp and shuffling his feet in a comical Charlie-Chaplin-like-walk, stumbling around with theatrical exaggeration, holding his chest with both hands and faking a pained expression.

"Never again Jimmy....Never again," he croaked, glancing at his watch.

"What a waste of time that was. Seven fucking hours, cooked up inside the boot of a car just to find out Sandra was meeting another woman."

He lowered his head trying to avoid any eye contact with Jimmy, but for some reason he couldn't prevent looking up. It felt like his eyes were being drawn to his under some kind of hypnotic trance.

Jimmy looked at him suspiciously, his half smile and cold eyes indicating disappointment.

"You'd better get yourself away home. You can tell me all about it tomorrow."

With the relief of getting away with all his teeth intact an exhale of air spilled from his lungs. But just as he turned to walk away he felt a strong hand gripping his arm.

"Just one more thing before you go," Jimmy said, squeezing his hands together, cracking his knuckles and pulling him close until their faces were almost touching.

"Have you started smoking?"

Mary Boyd had never been a beautiful woman.

She was only in her mid-fifties but she carried another ten years on her shoulders.

Her eyes were deeply hollowed and her face was heavily lined with fatigue, no doubt brought about from years of smoking and living a life of pain and suffering.

Mary had every right to live on her nerves. Suffering from anxiety disorders, she had no trouble getting through a bottle of vodka and three packets of cigarettes a day. And if it wasn't for the repeat prescription of valium and the many other pills and medication keeping her alive, she would have probably ended up in a mental health institution.

It had been a long time since anyone had seen Mary Boyd smile.

Everyone was looking forward to the New Year's Eve party. Mary had spent most of the week baking food and preparing the house for her sons coming home party. After finishing a short tour in Northern Ireland, Jimmy was back in the North East on two weeks home leave. Although Jimmy and Sandra's marriage continued to be estranged, for the sake of their child they continued to live under the same roof but still slept in separate bedrooms.

Most people who lived on the council estate rarely set foot inside the local pub, but for some reason they always felt an obligation to show their faces on New Year's Eve.

Smiling faces with outstretched hands greeted people they hadn't seen for years but didn't like anyway, buying drinks and cursing at the prices, wishing they had stopped at home in front of a warm fire and the TV.

After pushing their way through a human tide of spirited people, Mark and Frank were immediately confronted with Sandra and Jimmy in a heated exchange of abusive language. As the argument gathered pace it quickly became apparent that Jimmy had discovered the name of the faceless man who had been shagging his wife.

After Jimmy had finished with him his injuries were so bad he had to be rushed to hospital. He would spend the rest of his days getting used to a wired-jaw, four missing teeth and a disfigured nose that bore the unmistakable trademark of most professional boxers.

It was fast approaching midnight when they arrived at Mary Boyd's house.

Mary made everyone welcome with a drink, including a couple of strangers who were staggering around clearly unsure of where they were or how they had got there.

As the coloured baubles and silver glitter on the Christmas tree twinkled in the glowing coals of the open fire someone announced the countdown to the New Year.

As Big-Ben chimed the departure of 1967 and the arrival of 1968, desperate off-key renditions of 'Auld-Lang-Syne' chimed around the room. After the usual protocols of shaking hands and too many overenthusiastic kisses, everything was back to normal.

It was time for drinking and a change of music.

Under the watchful eye of Mary, he lifted the lid of the record player and removed four pieces of vinyl held on the vertical chrome support, the labels informing him that the records belonged to Mary. After carefully slipping the four Elvis Presley records to their respective covers and placing a Procol Harum record on the turntable he was a little surprised to see a half-smile on Mary's face.

Humming quietly to 'A Whiter Shade of Pale,' he headed to the kitchen to get a drink.

Jimmy was so drunk he could hardly stand on his feet.

He had fallen over so many times the situation had reached the point where he was becoming a nuisance to others trying to enjoy the New Year celebrations. And after insulting some of the guests with his constant use of foul language he was beginning to embarrass everyone, including his mother.

After falling through the kitchen door and crashing against a table bringing several glasses spilling to the floor, Frank decided it was time for Jimmy to go.

He wasn't overjoyed when Frank asked him to help Sandra with her drunken cargo, but nevertheless he reluctantly agreed to the task.

The journey to Sandra's house wasn't considered a long walk, but when you're carrying a dead weight he knew it would be some time before they were able to return to the party.