For Better or Worse from the book "Room 222"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Adult Romance  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

This short story is from "Room 222", a collection of short, erotic stories about eclectic characters and sexual situations, all taking place in the same room of a run down motel. Available soon on Amazon/Kindle.

For Better or Worse – Patty knew how crazy Paddie could get, but it had been a wonderful evening so far. Maybe it would be a good night too. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t. But he was her husband, and she’d sworn to stay with him for better or worse… (Trigger alert: contains graphic depictions of sexual violence)

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I gave the check-in girl a big smile as my husband wrapped his arms around my waist. So far, it had been a wonderful night, a true surprise.

With Pattie, I never knew what to expect. It was what made my life with him so exciting, even terrifying. That was what no one else understood.

I’d known Pattie was the one for me since the first time I laid eyes on him at the laundromat in college. It was truly love at first sight, for the both of us. Once he told me his name was Patrick, while my name was Patricia, and we were both called Pat by our friends, it really seemed like destiny that we would be together.

To our friends, we were known as Pat and Pat, but we agreed that one of us needed a variation of the name so that we could tell each other apart. Because it was what his grandmother called him, my sweetie ended up being the one called Pattie by our family. It caused a bit of confusion when people not in the know heard our names, because they often assumed we were calling me Patty[TJ1] .

Pattie dropped his arms as soon as I got the key card, and I quickly followed him to the elevator. I couldn’t see his face because I was behind him, and I hated that. His moods changed so often and so fast, and I always felt better when I could read his face.

But when we got on the elevator, he was still smiling, so I relaxed and smiled back.

Don’t ruin the night, I scolded myself. He didn’t even drink that much at dinner. A few beers, maybe a double shot at the bar. It’s not total abstinence, no, but he is trying. Be supportive.

I wasn’t sure if Pattie wanted to open the door himself. Sometimes he was funny about things like that, and I didn’t want him saying I was trying to take away from his role as a man. So I hesitated, but a little too long, I think. Because when he finally snatched the key card from my hand, I could feel the edge of his temper begin to show.

Still, he embraced me from behind, once we shut the door, and I could feel him smiling against my cheek as he leaned his face against mine. We were about the same height when I didn’t[AN2]  wear heels, so I almost never wore heels in his presence. He doesn’t like me to be taller than he is.

We looked over the room, and I knew there could be nothing in that drab little space for him to be smiling at. So the smile must have been just for me. I smiled back in return.

“Are you happy?” my husband said softly in my ear. Sometimes that was a loaded question, depending on how he asked it. But I heard no hidden meaning in his inquiry, and was able to tell him truthfully that I was.

He nodded, satisfied, and turned me to him in his arms. Whenever he did that, it took me back to when we were young and so in love that we both wanted to spend all of our time together. When everything was just sweet and I thought all the attention he paid me was because he loved me.

Having him holding me like that, looking at me like that, made me fall in love with him all over again. Even after eleven years.

On cue, he leaned in and kissed me. As I responded, he cupped my head in his palm, using it to pull my face closer to his. Sometimes he did that a little too hard so that my teeth were scraped beneath my lips. That would be one of the first signs that it was going to be a bad night.

But Pattie held me sweetly, and added only enough pressure to make me feel protected and desired. I opened my mouth for him and savored the feel and taste of his tongue as it darted in and out of my mouth.

I reached out and cupped my husband’s ass, pulling his groin toward my own. I sighed when he began to do a slow grind, because that meant he was receptive to my touch. I never knew; he could just as easily be turned off by my making a move like that and stop abruptly.

But this was our special night. He had promised that if I came back one more time, he would show me how things should be. And I believed him. More or less.

So far, I could find no fault with his behavior. I was the one with all the intrusive thoughts, scrutinizing everything he did. If this night went wrong, I knew who would be to blame.

Pattie grabbed my ass to him as well, still keeping up the slow grind. He moved his hand to my breast, squeezing it in tandem with his grinding rhythm on my pelvis. I knew the routine, knew what would come next, but it didn’t bore me. It turned me on every time.

So I was ready when he moved me closer to the bed and lay me down. I patiently waited until he undressed, then allowed him to undress me too. When I was naked, I got up on the bed and danced for him without needing to be asked.

He liked the way I gyrated for him, and when I got to the right part of the dance when I gave a dip of my hip and popped my pelvis at him, he reached up for me. He buried his face in my belly, never too low, but the little nips he gave me there always sent vibrations to my pussy.

Then he used his fingers and thumbs, rubbing and penetrating me before he even let me get down from standing on the bed. Pattie knew my body so well. On a good day he could make me cum just with his hands on my clit and his mouth on my stomach.

It was a good day, but it took a beat longer than usual. I was afraid in the back of my mind that he might stop before I got there. I tried not to focus on that, because thinking was the fastest way for me to kill my own orgasm. And he always told me I thought too much as it was.

But Pattie stayed with me, kept rubbing the pads of his thumb against my clit, penetrating me deeper and deeper with his three fingers, until I finally arched my back for him.

Usually, he’d feel as if he’d taken care of me once we achieved that. The rest of the night would be for him.

If he was drunk or even just in a bad place, Pattie’s efforts to get off could take a while. Sometimes he had trouble with his erection. I knew he was kind of young for that, but knew better than to suggest he see someone. Pattie was very touchy about anything he didn’t feel he was doing right.

But again, this was a special night. It hadn’t been this special in a long time. When my shuddering had stopped, Pattie smiled up at me. He was so pleased with himself, I couldn’t help but laugh.

I told him he’d done me so good, and thanked him. He said I was welcome formally, like he was my butler or something and had made the tea to my liking. Playful Pattie was always a good sign.

I asked if he wanted to play one of our games, and he nodded. He didn’t even pick one of the violent fantasy games, like Bondage or Rapist, which he liked and I tolerated. He consented to play American Gigolo, where I got to pretend I’d hired him for the night, which meant he had to do whatever I said.

Cautiously getting into it, I lay down on the bed and bent my knees. He knew what I wanted, but he waited until I said it out loud.

“Well, come here,” I told him, trying to sound forceful and confident. I was supposed to be the one in charge since I was paying him.

But too many years of volatile behavior had left me always nervous. My voice came out too quiet, too tentative. I saw him begin to frown, and quickly repeated my demand louder and with more force.

He didn’t entirely lose the frown, but he did comply. We skipped the part where he was supposed to call me “ma’am” and ask me how he could please me. He didn’t make me tell him specifically what I wanted him to do, which was usually what he wanted me to want anyway.

He just did it, beginning with the breast play like he usually did when he was in a good mood. Pattie had always loved my breasts, even as they changed as I aged and gave him three kids. If he was in a good mood, his hands or his mouth or both would always find their way to my nipples.

Under his lips and teeth, I felt myself getting wetter. All I had to do was lie back, both hands over my head, and give myself over to the feeling of his body between my legs while his head stayed on my chest. He sucked each one in turn, then used his two hands to put them together and put his face between them. Every time he made that thrumming sound when he did that, I could feel the vibrations run down my body. When he did it right, it didn’t even bother me that he acted like he’d just thought of it in that moment instead of that being something he’d been doing ever since I met him.

I wasn’t technically required to keep my hands up, but my husband could be very touchy about me touching him when he didn’t want me to. He said I distracted him, took him out of the moment. That was another thing that could make him stop.

So I’d learned over the years to keep my hands up so that I didn’t get carried away and touch him the wrong way. He came to like that, and eventually to expect it. At home I could grab the rails in our brass headboard, and if I did it voluntarily, automatically, he might not feel the need to handcuff me there. I didn’t mind assuming the position, but it always freaked me out when he cuffed me.

The motel’s headboard was just a cheap piece of plywood nailed directly to the wall. There was nothing to grab unless I turned my hands backward and tried to grip the lip that had been carved into the plywood. But I was afraid that would create tension in my upper body that he would feel. So I just contented myself with holding them up in the air, ignoring any feelings of discomfort I might get from having my arms up for so long.

It wasn’t that long anyway, because he had already moved on to the next step in his foreplay. It seemed that on my special night, I was getting the extended version. He moved his head down my body, again ending up at my belly. Again, he used his fingers on my pussy, which was already wet but got even slicker as he played with me. Feeling particularly frisky, he even turned his head toward my sex and blew his hot breath on my pubic hair.

But I knew that was as far as he would go. Pattie does not go down on women. At least, he’d never gone down on me. Over the years, I never got it and didn’t expect it. He’d convinced me that was completely nasty.

I’d already cum for him and knew it wasn’t likely to happen again, no matter how much he prodded. But that wasn’t something I could tell him, so why dwell on it? I needed to keep my mind clear, so my pussy would stay wet. He would feel some kind of way if I dried out before he was done. And then I never knew what he’d do.

Luckily, she was in the mood to cooperate, and I stayed so sufficiently juicy that he never even questioned the sounds I made for him. I moaned out his name, like he liked, and he gave me a final thrust with his fingers.

At this point, it was usually my cue to touch him too, on a good night when it wasn’t all about him. It was important that I didn’t get him too excited too soon, or he would blow. And that would be that, and I’d have no one to blame but myself.

Since we were playing gigolo, he felt I should ask to blow him. After all, I was paying. In reality, I didn’t like giving oral any more than he did, but that certainly didn’t matter. I was going to have to do it, willingly or unwillingly. It was more pleasant to just do it willingly.

“Come up here, young man. I want to suck your cock.” The words were scripted by him; I never used the word “cock” in real life. But Pattie thought the word “dick” was vulgar, and I thought it sounded ridiculously corny to say “I want to suck your penis.” So we compromised.

Since this was supposed to be my fantasy, I wasn’t expected to get on my knees for [TJ3] him. Rather, I sat up in the bed and he stood over me. I was usually expected to instruct him on what I wanted him to do, right up until he put himself in my mouth. Then I wasn’t supposed to talk, because if my teeth hit him there would be hell to pay.

But he didn’t even wait for the usual instructions, which was fine with me. Again, we both knew what he was going to do anyway.

But at least the familiar lines gave me a chance to get ready for him. I liked that better than just having him get up and stick his cock in my mouth as soon as I sat up good. But that’s what he did and I hastily opened my mouth wider so he couldn’t say I’d scraped him with my front teeth.

As the familiar head of his uncircumcised dick glided over it, I tried to use my tongue on him. The first man I’d ever blown had loved it when I wrapped the tip of his dick with my tongue, giving it a thorough bath the way a mother cat does with her kittens. But that man had a smooth, circumcised dick, and that was more pleasant for me. I’ve never known why Pattie’s mother hadn’t bothered to get him snipped, but I’d never gotten used to the look and feel of his foreskin, especially in my mouth. And he said him licking my mostly bald pussy was nasty? Had he ever had to look at his dick head up close and personal?

I heard myself make a little gagging noise in the back of my throat and tensed up, afraid he would get offended. With all his hang-ups about oral sex, he claimed he couldn’t get off unless he believed that I loved it when he fucked my mouth. He wanted me moaning, not gagging.

But Pattie was pumping himself deeper into my throat so fast that the tip of him barely registered. I did manage to give him some suction, but was relieved that he pulled out before he came in my throat. Not so much because I didn’t want to swallow him, although I didn’t. It was just that, once again, if he came in my mouth, that was it. Pretty much, once Pattie was done, we were done, no matter what we were doing at the time. And despite my all too familiar mixed feelings about blowing him, I was enjoying myself too much for it to end prematurely.

His pulling out while still hard meant he felt the same way. I quickly flipped over before his mood had a chance to change. Getting fucked from behind in a modified doggy-style was one of the positions he and I both enjoyed the most.

He was particular about the presentation though. He didn’t like to have to work too hard to get to me, so I tried to keep my openings high and right for him. Usually I wasn’t technically on hands and knees when we fucked from the back. It was more like I found some way to bend over so that, with our natural pelvic alignment, he could stand behind me and hold onto my mound with one hand and drive himself into me from behind. When he took the time to finger my clit while he did it, the moans and little screams he got from me that made him fuck me harder were entirely genuine. When I pleaded with him, “Oh, god, yes, Pattie. Fuck me harder, baby . . . harder, just like that. I love you, Pattie, I love you . . . take your pussy, baby . . .  take it . . . take it . . . fuck me!” I could tell that he felt like he was The Mack. But I wasn’t acting just to blow his head up; I loved it when we did it like that, and on a good day I almost always came that way.

I was pretty sure this wasn’t going to be a good day, though. When we made love in our own room, we generally made use of our queen-sized brass bed’s footboard to give me something to brace against.  Grabbing on to the bars allowed me to support my upper body while taking a kneeling position in the middle of the mattress.  Then I was able to bend over a bit but not too far, and thrust my ass in the air high enough for him to comfortably kneel behind me and find the opening of his choice.  But I didn’t have bars or anything to hold on to in the hotel’s bed. The headboard was on the wall, too high up for me to use to lean on. So I had no choice but to put my bare feet on the filthy looking carpet and use my tiptoes to balance my lower body while I leaned over the mattress.  The whole time I was arranging myself in that not terribly comfortable position, I had to hope that it was high enough when I presented my ass to him. [TJ4] I even took a second to stick my finger in my mouth and then rub my pussy to make sure the lips were still nice and wet, just like he liked it.

Despite all that, I felt the mood shift just a bit. Pattie didn’t say anything, but I knew he wasn’t entirely pleased. He took it anyway though.

With Pattie, I never knew if he would go up in my ass or my pussy. After I suffered through a series of bladder infections, he had finally decided that he did need to choose a hole, or at least go front to back. If he insisted on going back to front, yanking his dick out of my ass and then slamming it into my pussy on purpose, he was the one who had to wait for the time it took for the antibiotics to work.

So he’d taken to doing one or the other, and I don’t think even he knew which until he hit whatever hole he decided to use.

This time, it was anal. Again, there was no real foreplay to break me in to what he wanted to do. Again, that was no big deal since he’d long since broken all of my orifices in to suit his needs. Even without warning or lubrication, he slid into me easily and began to pump away.

I automatically began to make the required noises. It wasn’t that I wasn’t enjoying what we were doing, because I did. It was more that during actual intercourse he was always so keyed up that he made me anxious. I never knew what would set him off and make him ejaculate prematurely, or throw him off so that he just stopped. Either way, I’d be blamed if the sex did not go as he wanted it to.

But this night, I did everything right. Made the right noises at the right time, and managed to keep the correct position even though my toes were screaming every time he slammed into me. Again, the good thing about sex with Pattie was that he doesn’t really take long once he gets what he wants, so he was only in and out of my ass a few times before he went in as deep as he could and came in there.

Slimy and shitty, but effective.

He pulled out, letting his mess run down my ass. I wasn’t supposed to jump up to wash, so I just lay on my side, doing my best not to be in the wet spot but also to make sure he had room not to be in it as well. That would not be good.

It was the stress of the night that made me fall asleep. My plan was to wait until he slept, then get up as I usually did to clean myself and him as well. Once he was sleep, he was knocked out, and he never noticed when I cleaned him with a warm wash cloth.

But I pretty much passed out and missed my opportunity. As pleasant as the evening had been, I knew better than to think that it would last the whole night like that.

Sure enough, I woke up to Pattie leaning over me. I could see in his eyes that the nice Pattie was gone.  This was the Pattie that I’d sworn I’d never let get me again. And yet there I was.

I had no idea what set him off. I never did. Most of the time, neither did he. The fact that he was crazy was the only thing the two of us always agreed on.

He grabbed me by my head and told me to look at what I'd done. He gestured to the nasty-looking wet spot on the dingy sheet, and also to his dick. He’d never cleaned himself off, of course, and his semen and the residue from my anus had dried in a disgusting crust on his dick. Even worse, I saw that he was sitting up in the bed, leaning back against the headboard, fully erect.

My throat immediately constricted, because I knew what was coming. Without waiting for me to say a word, he tightened his grip on my hair and shoved my face violently into his lap[TJ5] .

I thought about trying to keep my mouth closed, but that wasn't going to work. He would never let me up if I didn’t do this, and biting him wasn’t an option. The one time I’d done that, he’d literally knocked my teeth out. Three of them, right in front, and it had taken four months before I was allowed to get them fixed.

So I did all I could do, turned my mind off and opened my mouth wide. I’d done it before, so many times I couldn’t even begin to recall what I thought of during these episodes, because I don’t know. Pretty much anything but what my husband was doing to me. Again.

It would have all gone faster if I’d just suck him off. Even when he was in a rage, Pattie could never hold an erection for long. Of course, that was worse for me when he raged about the fact that he couldn’t stay hard. That often meant that I would end up with something else shoved into whatever hole he was unable to fill with his penis. Bottles, his fist, his fingers roughly shoved into my asshole. Those were the worst nights, and I’d been torn more than once.

But of all the things he’d stuck down my throat over the years, I hated feces the most. I couldn’t make myself suck my own shit off his dick, and he was too lazy even in his rage to try to make me. So we just endured him bobbing my head on his lap. I kept my mouth open as wide as I could, and my tongue pressed as far away from his shitty dick as possible, and I put up with him controlling my movements with his hands in my hair until he finally did cum.

When he just threw my head to the side without saying anything, I jumped up and ran to the toilet. I threw up immediately, but still put my finger down my throat until I dry heaved. To my horror, I realized I didn’t have a toothbrush, or even some mouthwash to get that disgusting taste out of my mouth.

I was going to rinse my mouth out in the sink, but the water came out a rusty brown, looking a little like weak tea. That immediately made me think again about what had just been done to me, and it was all I could do not to throw up again.

After an episode, Pattie usually forgot all about what he’d done. He looked honestly baffled when he found me with a bruise or bleeding, and never understood why his hands were sore or his knuckles cracked. Not even when he lost it and took it out on the house. Once, when he’d been drinking and punched a hole in the drywall, he broke his hand and could not remember how when I took him to the ER.

I used to think he was just faking, trying not to take responsibility for the ignorant shit he did. But I’ve had more than one doctor tell me that his psychosis is real. He really did lose control, and he really didn’t remember the incidents later.

That had been one of the reasons I’d given myself for staying with him. I’d told myself that I couldn’t fault a man for being sick. I wouldn’t leave him if he developed cancer or diabetes, would I? So what was the difference?

But I really had grown over the years, and I was tired. Yes, I obviously had not quite shaken my addiction to my husband. I backslid a lot, which was how I ended up in the situation I was in. But even if my actions were not different, which everybody could see, I knew that my mind was different. Where no one could know it but me, I was too tired for this shit. I had to end it.

Pattie was sitting up in bed, watching me try frantically to find something to clean my mouth with. He asked me what was wrong, sounding for all the world like he hadn't just put the same unwashed dick he used to sodomize me halfway down my throat.

I knew better than to remind him of the reality, because that would have just started an argument. All I wanted to do was get my shit off my tongue, to feel clean again.

So I told him that I’d forgotten my toothbrush and I needed to brush my teeth. He nodded at that, and didn’t say anything as I put on my clothes.

I knew he might object if I got my purse, but he didn’t. Pattie had gone back to sleep, still sitting up.

Thanking God for small favors, I got the rest of my things and left the room. For good. I hoped.



Submitted: March 20, 2017

© Copyright 2021 Luscious Lee. All rights reserved.

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Great story. Erotic with a sad edge to it. I hope she doesn't go back.

Mon, March 20th, 2017 9:29pm


Thanks for the feedback and for reading!

Mon, March 20th, 2017 6:58pm

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