Breaking Perfect

I’m not glass she wanted to scream! She wanted to rip off her clothing and demand he fuck her right on the imported countertops until her ass felt bruised. Maybe she should take off her clothes right there in the kitchen. Panic choked her. She didn’t want him to stop, but internally sobbed, recognizing that he already had.

“What kind of movie do you feel like?” he asked as he stretched.

She didn’t feel like watching a movie anymore. She felt like fucking her husband. What if she dropped to her knees and began to suck his cock deep in her mouth until it grew so hard it touched the back of her throat? Would he be repulsed? Why was she such a pervert all of a sudden?

Guilt and shame crept over her like the feathery feet of spiders. Stepping back, she folded her hands, and set her ankles side by side. Her physical control helped her settle her frantic mind. “You pick. It’s your birthday. Why don’t you go get it set up and I’ll meet you up there just as soon as I tidy the kitchen?”

“Okay, don’t take too long.”

The kitchen was spotless in a matter of minutes, but took an extra five to simply stand with her cheek pressed to the chilled glass of the poolroom door so that she would cool off. She was twenty-eight. According to her understanding she was still years away from hitting her prime. Why then, was she thinking like such a whore? It was a horrible feeling, wanting her husband to fuck and grope her like an animal. Her mind was suddenly hosting fantasies she shouldn’t recognize. Yet they seemed perfectly at home in her head.

She’d been masturbating in secret every day for weeks now. Sometimes two or three times a day. And still her panties would need to be changed because one thought would have her soaking wet again. Why? Why was this happening to her? She didn’t want to want the things her body was craving. Such fantasies could never exist with Mason. If this kept up she would only find herself resenting a perfectly lovely marriage.

Liberty grabbed hold of the soft skin under her arm and pinched until tears prickled her eyes. The action had a grounding result. The sharp bite of pain centered her being in a way that didn’t require too much time, as it was time she didn’t want to spare at the moment.

She held her tender flesh clamped between her fingers, knowing she was developing a bruise, and waited until the pain became too much that she could no longer feel it. The moment that the pain stopped, a part of her tension broke away. Her mind cleared for a brief moment, much like it did in the eye of an orgasm, and she let out a slow breath. That’s better.

When she released her stiff fingers and pulled her face away from the cool glass door she was calmer. She swallowed, squared her shoulders, and headed up to the entertainment room to find Mason.

They watched The Time Traveler’s Wife and in the end Liberty cried. Mason’s hand rubbed over her back as he passed her tissues she bashfully accepted.

Mason locked up the house while she changed into a white satin nightgown that flowed to the floor. Folding the linens back on Mason’s side of the bed, she lowered the lights to the dim/off setting. Within ten minutes the room would be completely black, the way they both preferred to sleep. Mason entered the room just as she climbed into bed.

“That was a good movie, don’t you think?”

“Yes. I liked it.”

“You always like the sad ones,” he teased.

“That’s not true! My favorite movie is Braveheart. It’s brutal and totally a man flick!”

“Lib, he dies a martyr for his widow.”

“He wasn’t a martyr. The English caught him. Otherwise he would have kept on fighting. He fought for his widow.”

“Same difference. It may have war, but it’s still a sad love story.”

She sat up on one elbow and shook her head at him. “Well, don’t act like you only watch macho stuff. You loved The Notebook.”

“Now that,” he said, leaning over to kiss her lips, “is a great movie.” He settled into his side of the bed and adjusted the covers. “Love you, Lib. Thanks for a fantastic birthday.”

“We didn’t do anything.”

“It was perfect. You made it perfect.” Her heart swelled at his compliment. For her, there really was no higher praise.

The room grew dimmer and Liberty waited for Mason to touch her. It was Friday night. They always made love on Friday night. Not to mention that it was his birthday.

Darker and darker the open space became and Liberty began hyperventilating from the anticipation. Anxiety closed in and she fought to force it back. Patience.

What if he just went to sleep? What if they didn’t make love? It was Friday! Why wasn’t he touching her? Her heart began to race as she fought the urge to cry. She couldn’t initiate their lovemaking. It just wasn’t in her to do so. He needed to start things. He always started things.