Buttons, Zippers, Laces.
<Start of excerpt>
I stared at the buttons that formed a line down the front of her blouse, imagining the twin secrets that lay beneath them. I began wondering why secrets like those always remained so with Sam.
If they were my wife’s breasts hidden behind buttons like these, then that’s where those breasts would stay. If this was my wife’s body, I wouldn’t have had my hands on it in the first place.
For fifteen years, zippers, toggles, laces, clips, ties, hooks, loops, and buttons have kept me out. Buttons like these have helped my wife uphold her war against my curiosity, my hands and desires. Buttons like these had become Sam’s allies. Buttons had become my enemy. I hated buttons very much.
Fury welled inside me as I remembered every holiday, every romantic dinner, and every torturous opportunity that had passed by—because stupid little buttons kept me from having what I needed most.
I looked at Nina’s blouse and imagined it was Sam’s—that fucking line of disk soldiers defending her treasures from me. I shook in anger. Why should buttons have that kind of power over me? Why try to keep me out? They have no reason to. They shouldn’t be blocking my path. I’ve earned Sam’s trust. I’ve paid for it a thousand times over. How dare she and her buttons continue tell me that what I have provided is still not enough! How dare those plastic disks make faces at me, pretending to be powerful enough to keep me from taking what lies behind them!
A tremor pulsed through me. I took my hands off the pitiful creature before me—that weakened mass of flesh and hair, relying on funny-faced buttons to stop me from reaching in and taking what was rightfully mine.
Would Nina ever understand what I was thinking? Did I stop and remind myself that these were Nina’s buttons and not Sam’s?
War has its victims.
Something in me snapped. I grabbed the front of the blouse with both hands and wrenched the two overlapping sections of fabric in opposite directions. Her body flinched as the buttons tore from their stitching.
Those damn things were like bullets, flying this way and that, one grazing the edge of my right eye. The material shredded into several pieces and I tore it away from her body, not caring about what I had done. She stood there exposed, her eyes and mouth open. She looked at the strips of fabric that dangled through my hands and said, “Take me to bed… please?”
Beat your drum and march on.
She didn’t care Tony. She didn’t care that I’d damaged her blouse. She didn’t care that I’d cracked her wall. She didn’t care about the stranger’s invading tongue, the mountain or the speed of it all. She took it at my tempo and ignited instantly. She was on fire and nothing mattered while I kept her alight with kisses.
She knew where we were headed. Those legs would’ve separated no matter what I did to her from then on. She was ready and I had permission.
You’d think I would’ve taken her then and there but I didn’t do that. It came down to a matter of principle. Sam needed punishing. With no way to do that, Nina received it instead. That blouse was only the beginning of it. There was still so much more to do to her.
I tossed these strips away, knelt down, and went for the skirt. I grabbed its hem with both hands and tore it upwards. A rip squealed along the skirt and snapped as it went through the waistband. “Hey! That was my good—”
The enemy attacks.
“Turn around!” I demanded, tossing the torn garment down the hallway.
Make her fight!
Hold her down!
The skirt resisted a little. The blouse was flimsy compared to the skirt but even together they still weren’t enough to satisfy. Yes, they represented much. After all, they were her shields. They had protected her; covered the bits she wanted hidden from men like me. I broke through them. I took them from her. I disassembled them. Their days of being shields were over… but I couldn’t find solace in their destruction. I needed more.
She conceals more!
I pushed on her back so her chest pressed against the wall. “Now stand still.” I held her head with one hand and grasped a small piece of shredded blouse that remained with the other. “Bend over,” I demanded, letting go.
“Do you know how much that skirt cost me buster?”
She fights. Fight back!
“Bend! Do it!”
“No. Not until—”
I hooked a finger into the waistband of her knickers and pulled her backwards. She continued to complain but physically complied. That’s strange, don’t you think? I was taught to respect women’s wishes. Mother said I’d do better with women if I did. Mother’s advice appeared to be inaccurate. Disrespecting Nina’s wishes gave me the best feelings of all and Nina didn’t seem to mind. She casually placed her hands on the wall, bent over and did what had I told her to do. I kicked her feet apart. “Bend over, I told you! Bend! More!”
“Alright, I am! I am! You’ll pay for a new skirt, you know that?”
Her legs were separated about as far as they could go and she was bent at right angles to the wall. I reached down for the sodden crotch of her knickers and grabbed them at the cleft of her body. She twitched as my hand entered that forbidden region. “Not those. I mean, I can just take them off and—”
Can you believe that? She wanted to stop me. She knew what I was going to do and she still wanted to stop me.
Tony, we both know it wasn’t about protecting those knickers. The garment of most value had already been destroyed. She said nothing when the blouse was taken apart and yet these tiny knickers were worth something to her. What? I’ll tell you what they meant to her. They were worth the price of dignity. I had her last piece of defence in my hands and it was mine for the taking. Surrendering to me was better than losing. Well, I wasn’t interested in dignity. To me, dignity was a luxury item that I could never afford! So I stood beside her and held her neck with my left hand. “You want this to happen. I know you do.”
I squeezed her knickers tightly and felt the warmth of her wetness ooze around my fingers.
“I don’t want this. I don’t want—”
“You want it like this and I’ll show you that you do.”
She was about to speak again but before she made a sound I tore the panties from her, spun her around, stood her up, pinned her against the wall and then raised them up to her face. I squeezed my fist and waited for her eyes to react. The womanly excitement made its way out of the fabric, glistening and dripping around my fingers. She looked at the shiny, silky mess and shifted her eyes coyly back at me.
“That doesn’t mean—”
Choke juice. I smell it. Mmmm!
“It means everything missy! It means you’re full of shit. It means more than what your lying mouth says!”
“Lying? I… I—”
“Close it now. It’s time to be occupied.”
Conquer her I did. I sacked the government and took its queen on the state room floor. An audience of her most loyal subjects gathered and watched on as I thrust myself past her hot, swollen lips. At first they gasped and whispered. Stirred by the scene though, they soon joined in, fucking each other silly until a large groaning mass of pink flesh writhed around us. At various intervals a shout would be heard… and then a new slimy puddle would find its way to the kingdom’s floor.
Yes, Nina’s boiling abyss returned much to me and I needed every bit of it to satisfy the Beast. I wallowed in her paradise for hours. She was everything I’d wanted—but I found something unexpected. I should’ve felt completed through her but I never received that. Something had gone wrong along the way and it wasn’t about guilt.
Nina never knew about the battle we’d fought, the one I had won. After her first orgasm, all she cared about was getting more of the same. She was an endless hole that I couldn’t fill. There was no end to her. She writhed with smiles, at times giggling, awarding herself a point at the end of each orgasm that followed. I should’ve been happy, I’d made love to a woman who appreciated me, but I was annoyed. I was angry. She had reduced my war to a game. I came to win. What I had was a queen stinking of sex enjoying the conquering process, helping herself to prizes along the way. None of it was right. It wasn’t a war at all. I hadn’t won anything. I was a loser… and I felt more emasculated than ever because of this.
Wars aren’t won this way.
They aren’t. There are other ways to fight.
<End of excerpt> …more excerpts
Now you’ll want to read M. Forman’s novel, SEETHINGS, right? Good. It’s where our unborn serial killer begins their story.
‘Forman’s writing style is artful, with the protagonist Mitchell’s warped thought processes masterfully exposed. The author has a powerful and vivid command of language and his word pictures are stark and disturbingly real.’ – Linda J Bettenay, author of ‘Secrets Mothers Keep’ and ‘Wishes For Starlight’.