Message-ID: <31536asstr$995728204@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20010720032059.89072.qmail@web10307.mail.yahoo.com> From: One Gallus Subject: {ASSM} Kentucky Wonder 3 (MF, cheat, inc) Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 11:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, t4425 __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Get personalized email addresses from Yahoo! Mail http://personal.mail.yahoo.com/ <1st attachment, "KW 3.txt" begin> Kentucky Wonder (Cheat, MF, Inc) Part 3 Synopsis Corrine Deere tells her own story. It is the tale of a servile wife and mother whose effort to be a person in her own right is frustrated by her boorish husband. A full-blown compulsive, Leon masks his abuse and bigotry with self- righteousness. His repressive control results in a stinging backlash that neither she nor he could have predicted. Disclaimer This story contains graphic sexual scenes of incest and adultery. If you are under the legal age of adulthood in your state, find another story. This story is not to be read where it is illegal. The possible resemblance to actual characters, living or dead is purely coincidental. This story may not be posted or changed or otherwise used by anyone anywhere without the permission of OneGallus. "Kentucky Wonder" Part 3 I awoke at 5:00 AM and felt the need to urinate. I staggered to the bathroom, peed, and as I returned to the bed, the cottony haze of sleep was still padding my eyes. I slid under the covers, and turned on my side, pulling an extra pillow down between my knees. I felt good. Almost immediately I drift into a foggy dream. There is an assembly of men with beards and women in long dresses with bustles. They are milling about, murmuring. They gradually come to attention and the men remove their top hats and turn toward a freestanding stage with a white painted railing around it, hung with bunting. An enormous American flag hangs in back of the stage. I see a gaunt tall man in a black suit with high cheekbones rising from an ornate chair. He removes his stovepipe hat and I see he is bald, with only a gray fringe of hair encircling his pate. He stands next to the lectern, not behind it, and his elbows are sticking out at a ridiculous angle. I see clearly that a bulge is pushing against the front of his pants. He opens a Bible and begins to speak: "Four score and seven years ago . . ." A little man with a nickel-plated pistol in his hand steps out from behind the flag and I tense up with dread. I feel a slowly increasing, pressure on my face. Soon I can't capture a full breath through my nose and the smothering sensation brings me back to consciousness. The pressure graduates into pain and I am suddenly terrified. My eyes open and I see the blur of Leon's fist against my nose, pressing, pressing. My eyes follow his arm up to his shoulder and then to his face. It seems there's a blackness across his eyes but I can see his bared teeth plainly. My heart is about to burst from my chest. I want to wake up, but I finally realize I am not asleep. "Listen, you . . . Listen you . . .You . . ." Leon said, trembling, snarling. "It's been over two weeks now and you ain't got up and made me breakfast in all that time. You think 'cause you got a two-bit job you can live like a queen and do anything you want? You . . . You still got a husband and you still got a house to take care of!" Leon had never hit me, and he wasn't hitting me now, but he was hurting me. He was mashing and grinding and twisting. My nose felt as if it would split away and slide down my face. I became aware that a sound was coming through my clenched teeth "nnnnnnnnnn," broken by some kind of sick whimper. "You . . . You . . . You're a . . . You're a . . ." Then he suddenly let me loose, He stood up, shuddered, his teeth still bared and his nose wrenched into a snarl. He whirled around, and tramped out of the room. My nose was seeping blood and I was crying through my teeth. I looked over at the clock; it was 6:30 AM. I had not spoken a word. I went to the bathroom and washed my face in cold water. I was afraid to look into the mirror. I washed till the water wasn't bloody anymore. Then I carried a cold wet towel back to the bed. I put the towel on my nose and lay on my back for a half-hour, tears running out of my eyes, but I made no sound. Then I got up at 7:00, knowing that by now, Leon had left for work. I walked to the kitchen. I got a pot from the pantry, carried it to the refrigerator, opened it and dug into the ice bin, scooping a handful of ice- crescents. I carried them back to the bedroom, locked the door, and retrieved a clean towel from the bathroom closet and dampened it. I turned off the lights and crawled back into bed. I formed a little fist-sized hollow in the towel and put in a half-dozen pieces of ice. I held the ice on my nose till the wet freeze drove away the pain and all the feeling from my face. When the numbness turned into a pain of its own, I would rest until the nose started throbbing again. Then I would replenish the ice and reapply it. I was very quiet, so Lonnie would not hear me when he awakened. When he did, I heard his door open and his feet shuffling down the hallway to the bathroom. Then I heard him stirring about, getting ready for school, trying to be quiet, trying not to disturb me. After a while I heard the side door open and close and I knew he had gone. I went back to the kitchen for more ice and then back to bed for the same routine. The phone rang at 10 o'clock but I let the answering machine answer it. "Corrine?" George said over the speaker, "I was expecting you at 9 o'clock. I hope everything is OK. Give me a call. Bye." At 11:00 it rang again, "It's George. Please give me a call." He stayed on the line for ten seconds more, then said, almost begging, "Please call, Corrine." At 11:20 the doorbell rang. I walked down the hallway from my room and looked at the front door. A three-foot long oval window, with an translucent curtain on the inside, showed George's lean form standing there, his weight shifting from foot to foot. When he turned to look toward the driveway, I realized he was looking at my Dodge Shadow. He pounded hard on the door with his fist. "Corrine, I know you're in there!" he called, "For God's sake, open this door or I'm going to break in this window!" I walked unevenly to the front door and unlatched the chain, turned the dead bolt and opened the door. George blinked when he saw me. He stood silent, looking at me with incredulous eyes. "Good Lord! Corrine, what happened to you?" He stepped in, closed the door behind him and I immediately pulled him to me. His hands were moving on my back and I realized I was in my nightgown, naked beneath, but it didn't seem to matter. I could not cry, but I clung to him and wouldn't let him go from my vise-like embrace for a long long moment. He was silent too. I had already begun to move my hands on the spareness of his back and side when I realized what I was doing. I finally released him and stepped back and he gazed at me anxiously again. I looked down and saw that the bodice of my gown was stained with blood. Tracks of it had dried on my breasts. My nipples were in blood- stiffened cups of satiny material, molded wet and now dried. He asked again, "What happened, Corrine? Did Leon do this?" "I'm sorry George, I'm a mess. You sit down and I'll clean up." He walked over to the couch and sat down on the edge with his hands on his knees. He looked terribly worried and uncertain as he stared at me, then he looked steadily at the floor. I padded back to my room and into the bathroom. I looked at my face in the mirror and to my surprise, my nose was not dangling loose by a cord of flesh. Aside from a little redness, a slight swelling and a thin crust of clotting around my nostrils, I could see I was OK. The blood on my gown looked far worse than any injuries I had sustained. My upper lip was a little swollen. I lifted it, and noticed that my teeth had cut into it. I brushed my teeth, careful not to scrape the lip. I stripped away the gown and stepped into the shower, which I ran lukewarm. After that, I patted damp-dry with a towel and put on my thick terry cloth robe. It felt wonderfully cozy as it continued to dry me. I brushed my hair, looked at my self, and not caring to do more, I returned to the living room on bare feet. When I walked back into the room, George looked as if he had been about to cry, he stood up at the couch. "Oh Corrine, you do look better! I'm so sorry, Corrine. Does he do this all the time?" "No, he's never done it before, except for words. He hits with his words. He's never hit me before with his hands. Actually, he didn't hit me this time. He just mashed his fist into my face," I found my fist doubled against the palm of my other hand, grinding, and my teeth bared. I sat down on the couch, and George sat again too. A sharp blade of sadness ran up under my ribs and shifted around inside my chest, yet I could not cry. "Mostly, he just puts me down" I said, "He says I'm fat and lazy and stupid." "Corrine, I want you to know, you're not any of those things." "Well, I don't think I'm stupid," and I realized just then that I was speaking pure truth. It was what I actually come to believe about myself "I'm not lazy, but I am slow, George, I am slow. But I like slow. Slow is me." It felt good to say that, just the matter of fact truth of the situation. "I am overweight," I admitted, relishing the honesty. Then I snorted, "I'm just fat," I looked at George, "I'm a little fat, George." I felt a slight smile at the corners of my mouth. "No!" George rebutted, "Even if you were fat, that's no way to treat another human being. Anyway, Corrine, you're not fat. You have a very pleasing figure, a classical figure. You know, like Peter Paul Rubens." "Who's he?" The name sounded a bit familiar. "A painter, an artist, I think about the 16th or 17th Century, Dutch." "Was he fat?" George threw his head back and laughed, "No, and neither are you! You're like the beautiful women he did, you know, he painted them." Then I laughed, relaxing now and realizing that a fist in my nose was not the whole of my life. "George," I said, stretching my legs out in front of me, crossing my ankles and wiggling my bare toes. "I just think of Sandra. She's so beautiful and willowy, and I'm so squat and short!" "You might be short, Corrine but you're not squat. You're different than Sandra. You're physically beautiful in a different way, besides being the great person you are." I felt myself blushing, happily blushing. "Ralph said that to me," I said. "Who's Ralph?" "My little brother. He's been dead a long time." "Oh, I'm sorry, Corrine, but he was right about you, you know," George said. Then sadness jabbed at me again and I sighed. "Then why doesn't Leon think so. Why does he treat me like the farmer's step-cow?" "Now, that is a mystery!" he nodded and smiling at 'step-cow.' "I think I need to get to know Leon a little better, maybe try to love him more than I do." "He won't talk to you George, if that's what you have in mind. He thinks he already knows what's right and nobody else is going to tell him different." "But he can't love unless somebody loves him!" "I'm not sure that I want his love anymore and I don't feel much love for him right now. And I'm not sure he'd welcome it even if I did." I said, shaking my head. "Sometimes we have to pray for strength to love some people." "George, that's easy to say for you and Sandra. She feels loved. You feel loved, and it's easy for you to love. Leon is not a loved man. He used to be, but not now. I'm not a loved woman." "Nonsense. Your son loves you." "Yes, but that's different, you know that." "Ummm, I'm not so sure. Others love you too, I love you Corrine." "What?" At first I was puzzled, Then I said, "Oh, you mean as a Christian, that's a different." "Who says?" George asked. "Well, there's family love, and married love and Christian love," I answered. "Who says?" "Isn't that what the Bible says?" I asked. "I read about synonyms of love, but I never read that there are categories of love. The Bible just says to love. Love is the basis of our being. We're suppose to love both neighbors and enemies." George was grinning like he had just solved all the problems world. "But, you don't have sex with your enemies!" I said, then immediately thought how silly that sounded. George said, "No, but I don't have a sexual desire for my enemies," he was smiling, "and I don't have a sexual desire for everybody I love," he said. "But you do for your wife," I said, trying to reason it through out loud. "Ahah! That's my point, Corrine. I both love and desire my wife." George's eyes glanced down at my leg. I looked down to see that my robe had separated halfway up my thigh. I didn't feel like pulling it to. I didn't want to pull it to. I don't know why, unless, it was because George said I was beautiful and he loved me and I wanted him to see me. Could it be that this pastor actually felt an attraction for me? The very fact that he was a pastor made this situation exciting to me. I felt reckless. I felt like saying, My husband just tried to mash my face in, George. I have a right to be reckless, if you think I'm driving too fast, then you grab the wheel and put on the brake. When he raised his eyes to mine, I held his gaze. "George, what if you had sexual desire for somebody you loved, but it's not Sandra?" I asked. I moved my right foot along the instep of my left. "Well, if I truly loved her, Corrine, I wouldn't do anything to hurt her, or injure her, would I?" He watched my feet. "No, I suppose not," I agreed. "So," he said, "if I wanted to have sex with a desirable woman, but it somehow would hurt Sandra, or even this other woman that I loved . . . Well then, if I did, that wouldn't be love, would it? Or it might hurt the people that she loves, so I couldn't do that, could I?" "How could that be? How would it hurt her the people that she loves?" I asked. "Corrine, suppose you and I made love . . ." his statement was exciting to me, even though I knew he was only hypothesizing. "Well that's interesting," I said recklessly, and shifted in my seat. I grinned, but he ignored it and went on. "How would that affect Lonnie?" he said seriously, "How would it affect Leon?" I tried to sober up and be serious. I nodded my head. I could understand that, at least the part about Lonnie. However, with Leon, at the moment, I didn't really care. "But what if they . . ." Then I caught myself. Should I ask this question I was burning to ask? I felt like I was driving out of control but pressing the accelerator anyway. "What if they didn't know? What if Lonnie and Leon didn't know?" He paused. "Well," he said, "that's a lot to think about, Corrine, you know, doing everything you do because you love people." He blinked his eyes. I looked at George, knowing he was evading my question. I uncrossed my ankles and separated my knees slightly. The robe, already somewhat opened, revealed a bit of my inner leg. I watched his eyes as they dropped quickly to my legs and then back to my face. They narrowed as he studied my expression. "George," I said, "You're not answering my question." I braced myself for rejection. All he'd have to do was say that even if Sandra or Leon didn't know, his love would keep him faithful. "Corrine, Have you ever heard of the term 'polyamory?'" he asked, clearing his throat. I wondered if he were trying to change the subject. I spread my knees a little more and then brought them back together, not quite as close as before. If he liked plump ladies, here was a plump lady to look at. I badly wanted this man to want me, maybe because he was "unattainable." "No, what is it? Poly . . .?" "Well, 'poly,' means 'many' and 'amory' means 'love.'" I thought it over. "Yes?" I said, asking for more. George looked openly at my legs, and shifted around at a right angle and put a knee up into the couch. His big brown wing-tip bobbed as he rotated his ankle. "It carries the idea of having loving, responsible sex with more than one person, but not injuring the loving relationships you already have," he said. "So," I said, "as long as I keep it a secret, I won't injure my relationships with others? Is that what you're telling me George?" Then time I shifted my position, and put my knee up onto the couch also. I clung to other side of the robe, keeping my naked crotch covered, but my inner leg, from toe to thigh was open to George's eye. George could kill it now. All he'd have to do is stand up and say that even if our spouses never would find out, our love would keep us from adultery. I looked at his enormous foot compared to my size six. I thought of the old Kentucky wives' tale, "Big Feet, Big Penis." George reached toward my bare foot, touched its arch with his knobby fingers, and traced its length. It tickled a little, but it felt heavenly. I concluded that with that gesture, George was saying yes, he would do it. Now the ball was back in my court. I was wavering whether or not I should take a shot, when George called a time out. "Well, some of us have agreed not to keep things secret from people we love. It's a 'trust' sort of thing. We never lie to one another." I swallowed hard, wondering if I should have come down this road so far. "You mean if we . . .You mean you'd tell Sandra?" He stilled his finger on my foot, studying it as he did. An angled shadow threw his face into a brooding expression as he considered my question. His cheekbones looked as if they had been carved out with a chisel. There was a tiny mole just to the right edge of his mouth. God, he looked like Lincoln. "Yes, Corrine, Sandra and I share everything," he said, encircling my ankle. The prospect of Sandra knowing I had been dallying with her husband cooled me considerably. I pulled my leg off the couch and my robe over my knees. George sat there with his index finger hanging limply in the air. Then he dropped his hand to the couch. "She knows how I feel about you, he said, She knows you're unhappy in your marriage.". "You mean you told her about Leon and me and . . .?" "Oh, no, I'd never break your confidence, but she's a smart lady. She actually pointed it out to me before you ever said anything. She sees these things." "Good Lord, George, what must she think of me?" "She loves you, Corrine, just like I do." I thought that one over. Did she love me like a sister, a friend, or was it this "poly-love" stuff George had mentioned? I sat, confused and feeling that it was just too much to take in at once. "George, thanks for talking with me," I stood up, and he followed. "You probably don't want me to come back to work for you after this conversation." "Why wouldn't I?" he asked, rubbing his big hands together, smiling. "After we . . . I mean, after I . . ." "Corrine, dear, there is enough loving friendship between you and me that whatever you do, you will not offend me. Don't you feel that way too?" "Yes," I said tentatively, feeling I was saying more than I should. "I mean, have I said or done anything today that would offend you?" I thought, it should have, George, it surely should have; but I said, "No." "OK, then, tomorrow is an off-day for you, but since you missed today, you want to come in then?" I blinked. "That's fine, George." "Here," he handed me a folded check, "It's not much, but better things will come, I think." I took my first paycheck and looked at it. Only then did I remember that I had been working for pay. "Now, give me a hug," he said, and opened his arms. When I hugged him, I sensed his stiff penis against my navel. He held me tight, the feel of his erection obvious to us both. Perhaps he even rolled himself against me slightly. He was not hiding it and I was not tearing myself away. Yet, I had already dismissed him, and he was not one to press it. When he left, I went back to bed, closed my eyes and tried to assimilate everything that was coming down. The faces of three men superimposed themselves alternately on my brain. Leon was nowhere in the trio. End of Part 3 Go to Part 4 Comments to OneGallus@yahoo.com <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+