By Lea Carrol

Copyright 2016 by William Abeleven - Publisher

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Love a la Brute

Catherine West settled back, pushing her pillows up high behind and flipped open her laptop. The mail icon flashed gaily at her. Inside, one from the school seeking donations for a new theatre block. A few from marketers that had slipped by the filters and one more…the one she’d been waiting for. Lunch was set and the girls were keen to meet her. Thank you, Jillian.

Catherine was good at making friends quickly, and she’d needed to be, the way she and Tim had constantly been on the move, from one state to the next, setting up new church meet groups all over the country. The money had been good, the travel fun and the only ones who suffered really had been the children, though they were getting better at losing and quickly making new friends again too. Soon she’d ask Tim to slow things down a bit so they could all settle for a while. Tim could easily be a pastor now, he knew the ropes so well and the drop in pay would be made up for through the donations tray.

Bella particularly would soon need some stability as it would not be long before boyfriends would appear. The last thing she wanted was dramas from her about her life being ruined and no one understanding her needs. At her age there was only so much she would give up for the Lord.

Out of the mail box, Catherine opened up her diary. Tim’s work party for tomorrow evening was highlighted as the immovable object in this week’s life. There was nothing on the calendar for tomorrow so all of Thursday was hers.

Casually, she reached under the sheets, slipped her panties off, tucked them away into the pocket of her dressing gown and adjusted her pillows back to the lying position before returning to thoughts about the lunch she would be having on the following Tuesday with Jillian and her friends. Jillian was married to Terry and both of them had lived here in Wallison Falls all their lives. There was not a soul in town of any consequence Jillian didn’t know – all her own life here and five generations before her made her, if not royalty, then at least aristocratic.

It would be fun. Predictable, but still fun. She was good at breaking into social cliques and had been chosen as carefully as Tim had for the role he played in the expansion. Catherine had seen it all before – all the largish towns and small cities, all the social climbing and posturing as the ladies clambered for position in the new hierarchy that would soon dominate the social scene in their town and all the star power and star light that the church’s celebrity patrons would cast over them, twice each year.

All that had nothing to do with Catherine and Tim but they did know how it worked and that work, it did. The two of them were sort of like roadies, setting up the gigs ahead of the talent.

Tim was set to stay for the year, as he did each time and in each place, mentoring new ‘pastors’, or franchisees as they were described in their contracts, before moving on to the next point of expansion for the church, or company depending on whether you were looking at it through its religious texts or the contracts it made. Most of them – the pastors, were local medium to largish business owner’s wives. The church did not see women communing with God as an impossibility. It also did not disapprove of its mostly female pastor’s husbands having the assets required to underwrite the investments in church property that were needed.

“How’s my sweetheart tonight,” said Tim, beaming, peeking around the corner of their bedroom. She watched him move quickly to the CD player on the dresser, finger out, ready to hit the play button. Tim loved Barry Manilow. He also said he’d read once that women loved Manilow’s music and that it was a sort of ‘turn-on’ for them and that’s why he’d chosen it for them both.

At the sound of the first strains of the music, Catherine squeezed shut her eyes.

How many Thursdays were there in a year, and if she multiplied that number by the number of years they’d been married, then that’s how many times had he played that song?

“God I love you, Catherine.’

Same line - it will be 7:38 right now.

Tim looked lovingly at her. “I know I shouldn’t use His name like that, but I do because I do love you that much, Darling.”

Catherine checked the clock beside her and wondered if there was a timer that could be programmed to switch the player on at exactly 7:35pm on each Thursday night of each week, because that was the only night it ever played, but it wasn’t really necessary. In that respect, Tim was as good as any clock.

She smiled and blew him his kiss. It was Thursday night. First the bathroom and whatever it was that he did that took the twenty two minutes that he always took, then the music to mask any sounds they might make, then the undressing, so he could show himself to her, and then the lights off…...

She watched him pretend he wasn’t watching her, watching him. His body was still good - a pound here, a half there perhaps, but his stomach, flat and firm, had barely changed. And yes, there was a little grey here and there, but he was a man now, no longer the boy she had married. She didn’t wonder about how she looked to him. It didn’t matter really. Whatever she’d done or hadn’t done made no difference to him it appeared. He always came with an erection and she wondered again what he did in that twenty minutes in the bathroom before he came to her.

“And I love you too darling,” she cooed softly from the darkness. “Here I am. Come to me over here.”

She felt the cool air on her skin as he lifted the sheet and climbed into the bed beside her. She closed her eyes and then, on cue, his touch - gentle, soft, tender, and always timid with that tentative probing of his.

The clock dial was luminous and she could see it in reflection off the sideboard mirror. Even though the numbers were reversed, she could see it was 7:46. She sighed. He would have taken as a sigh of satisfaction. 7:47… she took his hand and laid it on her bush. He toyed with it, tugging at strands of it. The hair was dry. She was dry.

“Oh my God…Catherine…Catherine,” he panted. “I need you…I need you.”

She let her legs relax and fall open – it was how she let him in and as he began his work, she let her mind begin its wandering ways. Sometimes it wandered back in time to places and events that happened many many years before – even before Tim. As she closed her eyes, a vision of a light muslin curtain catching the lightest of breezes like a ship’s sail when it was almost becalmed.

She was in their bathroom and it was not long ago – it was only days ago in fact. She had been in the shower, soaping herself and watching the suds puddle around her feet. The breeze was warm that day and was blowing ever so lightly she remembered and a knocking had caught her attention.

She could feel Tim, his face buried in her belly, making wet sounds, but she chose to be in her memory, in that shower that day, and she heard the knocking as though it was real again and then she was there, her senses and her memory, indistinguishable.

There - again, that sound. Catherine pulled the towel around her, stepped out of the shower. The knock was not from inside her own house but from outside. She moved closer to the window, curious. Outside, there was nothing to see – a breeze slight enough to part the light curtains. She saw the tree that Tim had been working on had been trimmed. There was nothing else to see and no sounds to locate. She continued drying herself, but then again, that same sound but something else, something more this time. A cry? A cat, or a bird? And then again, a little louder and a little more plaintive. Drying her hair, peering through the moving curtain, the sounds were coming from somewhere across the way.

From behind the sheer curtains she could see the windows of the house across the way. There were windows on the ground and first floors of the house. Only a double driveway width separated the houses. Two children played in a well-lit living room. As she stepped to her left to see a little further around to the back of the house, she heard a dull thud and a cry and caught a movement in another of the windows. Curious but nervous now, she stepped back into the shadows but still close by to the window. She could see, but she didn’t want to be seen. Her watching them was none of their business. It would be embarrassing to be seen.

It was a difficult angle. She pulled the muslin curtain aside a little so she could see more clearly. Upstairs, near the back of the house she could make out two people – a man – the back of him. He as big, heavy, tall, with a thick mop of wild hair. Cowering before him, a much smaller a woman with her arms up as though shielding her face. The man, she had never seen before, but the woman – she had seen her. She lived there. Now her arms were up at her face and her breasts were bare and exposed and young and firm. Her nipples were, even from this distance, dark and hard. His hands gripped her elbows. Catherine could not see his face, but she could see the woman’s, her mouth a hole in her face like a silent scream. The man, in white under briefs, was pale skinned and muscular and smooth looking.

Catherine closed her mouth. It was dry, like cotton. Her breathing, a little fast, a little jagged had made it so. It was not right what was happening. He was so strong – brutal, and she was small and helpless. Catherine stepped forward another half a step and pulled the curtain wide across.

All at once she saw the woman lifted off her feet and pushed back roughly back against the wall, and with that, that same thud and the same cry she’d heard before. Catherine’s pulse quickened. The man was hurting her. She felt her mouth dry and her breath shallow as she gripped the edge of the hard porcelain basin before her. There was no fight in the woman as she turned her face away from his towards the glass of the window. Why didn’t she scream? She would stop him, surely. Was it that the children might hear and not understand? They might not if it was a regular thing.

Catherine tried to swallow but her mouth was dry and her breath fast. Her right hand gripped the crucifix around her neck. Now he was at her neck with his mouth and his right hand had dropped down below the window’s sill. He was like an animal, brutalising her. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to escape him. Catherine gasped and let her hand fall from the crucifix. “No, no, no.”

The woman was looking at her, watching Catherine watching her…and then a smile? A smile? What was happening? But then she saw the brute’s arm, pumping up and down, hard like a piston. And the woman’s face was not one of fear, but of passion. He was taking her – brutalising her, but it was what the woman wanted.

Catherine had become a part of what she had witnessed. She slipped back into the shadow behind the window. She was breathing hard, almost panting like the beast she’d watched humping the woman in the window. Her fingers were inside herself and she pulled them out quickly. They were wet and she was wet and for a moment she wasn’t sure whether she was with Tim or with the brute and the woman from next door.

“Catherine?” Tim called out. “Catherine. Oh my God.”

Her mind, not sure for a moment where she was or what she was doing, Catherine gasped, “What? What is it Tim?”

“Oh!” Catherine cried out, “Oh,” she could feel Tim driving hard into her, his forearms hooked behind her knees, lifting her as high as he could. “I was inside you and you were in there too, touching me,” he panted.

She could feel his breath on her face, hard and shallow and dry, and his heart pounding, driving into her, his hips slapping into her thighs. She could feel his hands now, around her hips and slipping around tearing apart her cheeks. Her legs were over his shoulders and as he drove harder and harder, grunting like she’d never heard him grunt before, she suddenly felt his fingers slip into her from behind. She was full…so full of Tim in every way.

“I love you,” Tim gasped into her neck. “I love you, you bitch,” he almost screamed before driving one final drive before suddenly freezing still, arching up backwards with a groan that ended as a growl. “I can’t,” he groaned. “I’m done…. I’m cumming….I’m cumming….Oh…I’m done.”

For a little while there was nothing to hear except his breathing, regular and quiet. Outside, over his shoulder she could see a half full moon in the window. “I love you, Catherine.”

“I know,” she said. I know, Tim.” The dead weight of his body pressed down on her.

“Tell me it was as good for you, as it was for me Cat? I’ve never known you to do what you did tonight, Darling. Your fingers…Oh God. They were inside you while I was inside you........”

“It was good Tim…You were good,” she said softly before tapping him lightly on his back, signalling for him to get off her.

He rolled off her and collapsed heavily onto his side of the bed. “Oh, Cat…” and then nothing more.

She listened for his breathing, waiting for it to steady. And it had been good…better than any time she could remember. He’d gone from timid to…..well, he’d forced himself in a certain way tonight – become rough and manly and, well, brutish in a sort of a way. It was better, and she hadn’t minded his having been as firm as he’d been. It had even been a bit exciting and she remembered how her heart had gone fast watching what that bastard next door had done to that tiny woman. And she remembered how wet it had made her.

Finally, there was just the steady breathing to hear. Catherine slipped one leg out from under the sheets. She found the floor with her foot. Then the other leg, a twist, a turn and she was up, standing, pulling her robe around her. It was a dance she knew well.

Outside in the hallway the light from a half moon spilled out of the bathroom onto the passageway floor, lighting the way.

Inside, the tiles were cool on her feet. She quickly found the commode in the dark room, cleaned herself and slipped her panties back on. At the basin window, the side of the weatherboard house across the way sat in darkness. She pulled aside the muslin curtain. In the front room downstairs the lights were on. Inside, she could see two children laying on the floor, the light from a television playing over them. On the couch, the brute and his wife, snuggled closely together. The room at the back of the house was dark.

Catherine washed her hands quickly. It was late. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after….she would keep an eye on that room at the back of the house.

End

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