Was it the snoring or the crying that woke her? Both were loud but only one of them made her heartbreak. Above her, half lying on her, her husband’s body pinned her to the bed where she had fallen. His head was so close to hers that his snores vibrated her ears and made her head hurt. But then she realised her head hurt anyway. She put her hands up to her forehead and gingerly touched to see what the damage was. She couldn’t tell. No blood, but around her eyes was so sore she could imagine a black eye was on its way.
But all this wasn’t important then, because on the other side of her head, on the other side of the wall, was the agonising crying of a child. Her Joey! Her poor dear Joey had heard all the noise she and her husband, had made and it must have confused him terribly. She couldn’t leave him like that, suffering. She felt guilty, but Mummy has her needs, Daddy has his needs, and he would have to learn that. She had to get to him though, to tell him it was all alright. Give him comfort.
Her body told her no. Her body said, ‘You ain’t going nowhere, you need a day in bed at least to get over this assault. He practically raped you, so you need to look after yourself, girl.’
The conversation with her body continued like this, ‘But I have to. I’m a mother now. A mother has responsibilities. I’ve looked after my hubby now I need to look after my son.’
‘Ha! A mother! Really? Well go on but I bet you can hardly move.’
Her body wasn’t wrong. The longer she was awake the more parts of her body reflected back on her the violent sex she’d just gone through. Her knees were sore from kneeling in place. Her back and neck ached from being pushed into the corner. Her fingers had been trapped over and over with the banging of the headboard and they felt tender to move. Her thighs had been stretched and her hips had the evidence of strong hands tearing at them. This was not the worst of it though, because her vagina had never felt so battered and bruised, so used and abused, both inside and out. This pain that felt as if it reached up inside her, to her very core, overshadowed the dull ache of the thumb he’d forced in her ass.
The only pain that came close to that which she felt from her poor pussy was not her head, as swollen as it must already be, but her nipples. They had been sucked and pulled and twisted. Most of the night they had undergone some use, violent or loving. But it wasn’t that that made them hurt the most. It was from the crying. Her breasts knew that the only way to quiet her son, to bring him some comfort, was through them, and they ached to be suckled. She had to get to him, however much it hurt her.
