This is one of about a dozen short vignettes that I wrote some 18 months ago in conjunction with the talented and lovable /u/saltedfish, whose long-term friendship and partnership has helped make me a better writer in every sense of the word. These are early stories, written based on image prompts and posted here with only minor editing for pacing or grammatical purposes. Please enjoy.

Bill was in a terrible mood when he came home from work that day. First thing I heard was the car door slamming, then the front door following suit as he erupted into the room like a thunderstorm. I was sitting in an armchair, reading Vogue and waiting for him, but he just threw his coat and suit jacket on the couch while bellowing an assortment of curses at anything that was unfortunate enough to get in his way. Fire and brimstone followed him from the living room to the bedroom, where he paused his tirade long enough to notice that I wasn’t there - he must have somehow missed me sprawled in my chair - and stormed back to the living room where he fixed me with an ugly stare.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

I shrugged. “Reading. Waiting for you to come home, actually, but I’m starting to regret that one.”

“What?” His voice rose an octave. “So who’s cooking our fucking dinner? I gave the maid the week off, remember?”

“Yes,” I retorted, putting down my magazine with an annoyed sigh, “I do remember. I’ve been home for a few hours now, and somehow I did manage to notice how the usual presence of another human being was not with me in the house. I’m not blind or deaf, you know. And you don’t have to shout.”

He glared furiously at me, sweat beading on his forehead. He was still in his blue button-up shirt, tie and black slacks with the shoes that he took such great care to polish every day, and he would have been handsome if not for the manic gleam in his eyes.

“So you’ve been home all fucking day, but couldn’t be arsed to figure out what to feed your fucking husband after a long day of working his shitty job and listening to all those goddamn imbeciles who haunt my office? Huh? What, did you think I’d just do like you and starve myself to try and lose weight?”

I rose to my feet, anger welling up inside me. “What the fuck, Bill? How dare you--”

But he was on me, then, faster than I had expected, and his hand closed around my neck and held tight as he dragged me bodily across the room and into the dining room. I sputtered and struggled, trying to find purchase with my feet, but he was larger and stronger than me, and fueled by an incandescent fury that I had never experienced before. With his free hand he tossed aside one of the dinner table chairs, and then he threw me face-first across the table, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me dazed and bent over the table.

“You fucking bitch,” He growled, and along with it I could hear the sound of rustling fabric. I wanted to move, to speak, but before I had the chance his hand was at my throat again-- no, not his hand; something else that tugged into my neck and threatened to steal my breath away. Soft, smooth, yet hard - a tie, the one with the black and blue stripes I had given him for Christmas last year. I felt it tighten against my throat, and any words I might have wanted to say turned into a surprised croaking. Then I heard the jangle of his belt, the zip of a fly opening, and his left hand came down to tear at my flowy gown until he had exposed my backside.

“Bill,” I tried to stammer, but my pleading voice was lost to the grip of the tie, and then he was on me, in me, pushing between my legs and finding it hot and wet and welcoming. I could barely move, my arms flailing aimlessly by my sides as Bill simultaneously pumped into me and choked me. Over and over again he took me, while his left hand came crashing down with clockwork regularity to smack my ass and send the crack of skin on skin to echo through the house.

“You fucking bitch,” he grunted again, “show some-- goddamn respect. Do as you’re-- ugh, uhn, f-fucking told..!”

The tie helped him pull me back onto his cock with every thrust, and in return loosened on the backstroke enough for me to gulp down a sliver of air before it closed again and dragged me onto my crazed husband’s fat prick. My whole body rocked and danced in sync, and then I felt him tense and lean in over me to push as deep into me as he could. Cum, warm and copious, erupted into me, and the tie finally slacked enough for me to gasp and drink down a few mouthfuls of fresh air. My eyes burned, as did my throat, and I spent the next few seconds trying to recover from the way my head was spinning. Bill, on the other hand, leaned down and wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling his face into the nape of my neck.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.” My voice was hoarse, but earnest.

“Was that okay?”

I grinned. “Yeah, baby, it was great. I loved it.”

I could feel him smile against my skin. “Good. I was afraid I was overdoing it.”

“No,” I assured him while his cock began to droop and slide out of me. He must have enjoyed it, too, because I felt a thick trickle begin to run down my leg. It’d stain the rug, but I didn’t care. “It was amazing. I love it when you’re assertive. Thank you.”

His hand found my breast and squeezed it gently. “Good. Anything for you, my love.”

“Just one thing, for next time…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t comment on my weight.”

He chuckled and reached back to spank me softly.

“You know I love how fat your ass is.”

“Hey!” I laughed and pushed him off of me. “You’re gonna pay for that!”

“Yeah?” He cocked an eyebrow and grinned, his dick hanging limply from his open fly. “I’d like to see you try.”