Onward Toward What We're Going Toward Read Online Free

pants. “You’ve been a bad boy, Chic Waldbeeser.” She held his belt like a whip. “Turn around.”
    â€œYou’re not going to whip me with that belt are you?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œThis isn’t what I—”
    â€œGo along with me, will ya, Chic? Please.”
    â€œSorry.” He turned around and noticed the curtain opposite the bed fluttering in the breeze. Outside, he heard the screen door at Jack’s Hamburger Shack open and slam shut, the rustle of someone putting something in the trash can.
    She smacked his butt with her hand. “You like that?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œChic. Please. Tell me you like it.”
    â€œI like it.”
    She whipped him with the belt.
    â€œOUCH! Jesus Christ.”
    â€œNo, more back rubs.”
    She whipped him again.
    â€œOuch!”
    â€œYou hear me?”
    â€œYes. I hear you.”
    She cracked the belt and gave him a sultry smile. “Isn’t this fun?”
    He reluctantly nodded, but thought about crawling underneath the bed or cowering in the corner. He swallowed hard.
    She flipped off the light, and it was pitch black. He couldn’t see her, could only hear the sizzle of grease in the kitchen of Jack’s Hamburger Shack.
    She was coming toward the bed. “Say something.”
    â€œHere,” he whispered.
    â€œKeep saying it.”
    â€œHere. Here. Here.”
    He felt a depression in the mattress, then she was straddling
him. She pinned him down. Her wet mouth found his and she pressed into him so hard her teeth clinked against his. “Oh, I want you, Chic. Do you want me?”
    He was trying to wiggle into a more comfortable position, but she had a hold of his wrists, his arms pinned above his head.
    â€œDo you want me, Chic?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThen what’s the matter?”
    â€œI can’t move.”
    She let go, and he repositioned himself and propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see the outline of her sitting on the bed.
    â€œSomething’s the matter,” she said.
    â€œI just . . . you know . . . I thought it would be a little different. Slower maybe.”
    She tossed the belt and the buckle thudded on the floor. “You take the lead.”
    He kissed her cheek, but she grabbed his hand and guided it to where it was warm and moist. “Get on top of me.”
    He did what she said, and she grabbed his behind, squeezing it and digging her fingernails into the skin. “That kinda hurts,” he said.
    â€œCome on, Chic. Get aggressive.”
    â€œI’m not really—”
    â€œPretend. Come on. Do me. Fill me with your sperm.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œFill me up with your sperm.”
    He didn’t really like hearing his wife say that. It sounded dirty. He moved his hips this way and that way and up and down. He had no idea what he was doing or where he was shoving.
    â€œThat’s not it. Here.” She took his penis and guided him into her.
    Chic froze. Oh my gosh. The top of his head tingled. He was inside of her. How did this feel? It felt . . . well, it felt . . . he couldn’t really explain how it felt.

    She bucked her hips. “Come on. Go.”
    He was afraid to go. She seemed . . . experienced. He thought of earlier that day in the bathroom of the penny arcade and immediately felt guilty.
    â€œGo. Do it. Fill me up. Fill me with your sperm.” She grabbed his hips and pulled and pushed and pulled and pushed. It was only two or three more thrusts, and Chic closed his eyes and his muscles tensed, and he saw a rocket on a launchpad, fire and smoke mushrooming from its bottom. He pushed into her as far as he could. The rocket lifted off the launchpad. His body went limp, and he collapsed on top of her. “Ohhhhh,” he sighed.
    She squirmed out from under him.
    He rolled over on his back. “You like it?”
    â€œNot really, but