Her girlfriends had consoled her. One had even made a pass that was gently, but firmly, rejected. Shelia had found solace in watching romance movies. A public, but simultaneously, private place. A fantasy on screen shared with many other people. Shelia had talked herself into believing this constituted a form of relationship that would not cause the pain of a broken heart. Thomas spied her when she arrived. He had long ago learned to arrive early, sit up high in the back and watch other patrons as they found their seats. Many a couple choose their place and the woman would go for treats. These were the women Thomas liked. These women were servants doing the man’s bidding. Waiting on him. These women were the ones he would control, dominate, and subjugate. The women’s husband (for Thomas she must be married) would never know. Shelia saw him as she picked her chair. A single man was almost always waiting for ‘his woman’ to return with popcorn and drinks. She never failed to be. Your strong hands rip off my t-shirt and thong – the only clothes you let me wear – and I feel the rough wood against my bare skin. I feel your hands on my hips as you force yourself inside me. I gasp as you brutally pump your cock in and out, bringing us both closer to the edge. Your fingers grip my hipbones with one hand, as you press down over my mouth with the other hand, muffling my mingled sobs and moans. Your grunts get louder and you start thrusting faster and faster, until finally we both reach a shuddering climax. I lie on the table, panting, as you pull out of me. Suddenly you slap my pussy hard. I whimper in shock. Get on your knees on the floor. NOW. I do as I am told, kneeling down in the mess that was, earlier this evening, your dinner. The congealed gravy has pooled all over the linoleum tiles, and there are peas everywhere. The steak lies in front of where Im kneeling. Now look at this mess. You tut, mocking me. I think you need to clean our kitchen floor, bitch..
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