by Lucian Bane
The Bad Husband
Book 2
By Lucian Bane
By Lucian Bane
© 2020 by Lucian Bane
All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Lucian Bane or his legal representative.
To all the readers, fans, and or reader’s clubs. Thank you for supporting my work.
Also, if you need a different format, please contact me, the author.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my family. Thank all of you for putting up with me, for believing in me, for loving me.
Contents
CALM
Frank’s Home
Who Fucked Who?
Follow The Notes
C-H-A-R-L-I-E
Ms. Frank Ward
Good-Boy-Franko
The Man & The Can
The Mirror Looks Back
Your Cunt-Whore-Mother
Ben’s Back
The Can Times Three
CALM
Who was he killing? Why was he killing? When and where was he killing?
Those questions were the new obsession and Cheryl was grateful Ben had something to think about besides having vicious sex with her.
C.A.L.M.
She wrote the acronym while changing positions in the chair. The deep ache in her vagina and butt made it hard to sit. The way he used his cock like a battering-ram felt as if he needed to break through her body.
He was getting more aggressive and she had to find a way to curb what was happening to him. Her own body showed signs of PTSD which would seem to indicate it interpreted his sex as traumatic. And yet, not once could she relive what he did without being aroused more than she’d ever thought possible. What he did to her during sex was not normal. It couldn’t be. She never would’ve thought it possible to have such hard and long orgasms. He was slowly changing her into something else, she could feel it. And she wasn’t sure if it was a good change or not. Her instincts said not. Nothing good could come out of that, surely.
To salvage whatever she could from the darkness they found themselves in was all she had going in the form of making a difference.
She underlined the CALM technique three times, willing it to be some kind of answer to the problem. But dramatically repeating his issue or his insanity back to him screamed bad idea. Like fanning a fire. His urges were conniving and sadistic, seeming to hunt for opportunities and weaknesses to exploit.
She had to talk to him. Get him to help. But he was like two people at war with themselves. When she explained things to him, the two forces sat there, looking at her. One listened to what she said, the other plotted how he might use it to get more of what he wanted in sex.
The sane side of him was still there, coming up with ways to solve the problem. But the desperate way that side acted felt like he knew time was short and any day now, he’d lose all control. And then what? It was like he knew he was slipping faster, and his frantic behavior made it harder to think around her own fears.
She’d have to leave if he lost himself. No, she’d have to have him put away because he was too dangerous. The idea to do that cut her heart wide open. A man like him without some kind of tether to sanity was purely evil. She was terrified of that part of him. All while clinging desperately to the husband who fought alongside her. She’d had such a brief time with that part of him. Hours. But they were the most amazing hours she’d ever had. She wanted them back. She wanted him back.
And now he was fidgety, anxious, paranoid. All the time. Only during sleep did he rest except on those nights he had nightmares that sent him flying out of the bed like somebody drowning. The last one ended with him drawing picture after horrific picture. Then he lined them up on the floor and studied them while jacking off and crying. She’d never been so terrified and heartbroken at once. The look on his face... horrified and appalled to the point of devastation that he would or could be aroused over such things. It was as if he was experiencing both sides of the crimes now. The perpetrator and the victims. It all made her need to touch him. But once she did, an explosive lust took him over and she became the only canvas he could bleed his insanity onto. And that was requiring more strength than she had to survive it.
If he wasn’t going to medicate, they needed something. Some kind of trick to prevent the triggers. Her being aggressive with him sexually was one such trick but it was a double-edged sword. When she used it, he seemed to want to reciprocate. Like the monster gave her permission just so it could have his.
“What are you doing?”
Cheryl yelped at Ben’s sudden presence behind her. His thumbs pressed into her shoulder blades and massaged deep and slow. She closed her eyes, focusing on controlling her fears. But anytime Ben touched, it meant more of the same was coming and where that ended only his insanity knew.
“I need to talk to you,” she announced with a bold frailty.
The sudden stilling of his hands on her shoulders made her heart hammer before they glided off with a rejection duly noted drag. “What is it?”
Sounded like concern in his soft words and she turned to see what was going on in his face. He was already heading to the bedroom window wearing nothing but nudity and a terrifying sex appeal. She had no idea his body possessed so much of it. “We have to find a way to…control your…”
“Abuse?” he helped, making her swallow.
She made her way slowly toward him.
“Don’t touch me,” he warned when she was still five feet off.
“I know,” she whispered.
“Do you,” he mumbled, staring out at the foggy morning. “I’d commit myself to the local psychiatric ward if I didn’t need to figure out what’s going on with our Mr. Friend.”
She turned and eyed the bed, making her way to it and sitting carefully.
“You know, ever since I learned I had a partner, I’ve wanted to find out everything about everything.”
“I know you do,” she said.
“But not for the reasons I should. But because I want in on it. Did he stop when I died? He better had,” I think to myself. “How dare he touch what’s mine to do? That’s what I think. And then…”
She swallowed as he lowered his head, shaking it.
“Then I can…feel.” His breaths shook in and out. “I can feel their pain, Cheryl,” he whispered. “And it…it hurts and…feels so good at the same time.” He gave several gasps. “I want to experience it firsthand and then…I want to find a way to cut my own head off because I can’t stand being this monster. And yet, I can think of nothing else.” He braced his palms on the window frame. “What happens when I kill you, Cheryl?”
“You won’t,” she whispered. “You’re getting stronger.”
He let out a dry, quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m getting stronger, alright.” He glanced toward her, not looking at her. “Did I ever draw before this?”
“You were a draftsman but…nothing artistic. That I know of.”
“Did Frank draw?” he wondered, looking back out the window.
“What are you thinking?”
“I think I need answers. All of them,” he seethed now. “I need them like I need to kill. I can’t sleep, I can’t think of anything but these questions. Did he draw, did he take pictures? Did he dance, sing, listen to music?” He glanced toward her again. “I need to know where he stops, and I begin.”
“I can tell you anything about you,” she said. “We could start there.”
“When I’m looking at the pictures,” he went on. �
��That I draw…” His head barely shook like he was contemplating. “Something happens in my brain.”
She waited for him to explain.
“It’s…it’s working. Somehow.”
“Working, like…”
“Like figuring something out.”
“You think there’s something in the dreams you need to remember maybe?”
He dragged his hands down the window frame slowly. “I feel like Mr. Friend wasn’t a very good friend to Frank. That Frank didn’t just have an accident.”
“What?” Cheryl whispered.
“I think Frank was murdered for a reason.” He turned and her eyes sank to his enormous cock. “You look at my cock and it makes me need things, Cheryl,” he warned, sounding annoyed and disgusted with her.
She caught her breath and looked up at him. “Try putting clothes on, Ben,” she said, fighting to maintain her composure with him. A weak Cheryl wasn’t just his weakness, she was no good to herself either. “You’re my husband and I love you,” she reminded him. “Even though you break my body every time, I still want you.”
He walked past her, close enough to touch and she held her breath. “Will your pussy ever stop needing punishment?” he wondered when he got to the dresser, opening a drawer. “Will it ever not beg for my cock’s wrath?” He walked back toward her with a pair of black jogging pants and sat on the opposite side of the bed.
The accusation in his tone, the pure suspicion made her ill. “I’ll never stop wanting you, because I love you.”
“You love it when I fuck you to pieces,” he clarified, sliding his legs into the pants. “When you’re screaming into the bed,” he seethed, seeming to burn at the memory. “I’m going to start gagging you.” The decision had already been made and he was informing her, she realized. “I can’t have Charlie or Alice, or Mr. what’s his face hearing you.”
Her gaze lowered to his slow-moving fist along his cock, his pants at his upper thighs.
“Did you know our son is fucking Alice?”
Her stomach clenched at the mention of their son and sex in the same sentence while he stroked himself, opening his legs.
“I heard them one night when I was stalking around the house looking for my fucking mind. Come here and suck my cock,” he said, making her womb clench and her clit tingle.
“What…do you want?” she asked, wondering if she could talk him into agreeing to only doing him.
“I want your teeth on my dick, isn’t that a fucking given by now?”
“I’m…very sore but I’d love to make you come.”
She stood before him and he eyed her with his head angled. “You like watching me come?” He kicked the jogging pants off and scooted back onto the bed. “Stand in front of me.” He drew his knees up and opened them, gently lifting and rolling his balls in one hand while sliding his fist up and down his length.
She moved closer, stopping at the bed, already aroused out of her mind at the sight.
He gave a lusty groan and opened his legs wide while he rolled his hips, forcing his cock in and out of his fist. The sight of his large hand caressing his balls was intoxicating. She loved his hands. So strong and beautiful.
“I ordered things,” he whispered as she climbed on the bed and knelt right before hm to watch. His hot eyes held hers tight before lowering to what he did to himself.
“What did you order?” she asked, stroking his inner thighs with her fingers and nails, desire burning up ninety percent of her fears.
He let out a shudder, lifting his hips off the bed. “I ordered things to fuck you with. And a cock you strap on,” he said. She looked at him and he opened his mouth, panting as he jerked his fist faster on his cock until the bed shook.
The idea he wanted her to do that to him made her clit ache. “You want me to fuck you?” she whispered, knowing he liked her talking during sex.
“Yes,” he gasped, nodding at her with a longing in his hot eyes. “I want you to fuck me the way I fuck you. Show me what that feels like.”
She stroked her hands all over his lifted ass, imagining that. “I will. I’ll fuck you really good.” She traced her fingers over the hand gripping his balls then lower. Raising her gaze to his, she watched his face while touching his ass.
His mouth opened more with a strained groan. “You’re so fucking nasty and wicked,” he said as she pressed her middle finger at his ass. He eyed her for several seconds. “Stick it in deep.”
His mouth hardened as she pushed inside him. God, he made her so horny. She lifted her leg and put a foot on the bed, sliding a finger over her sore opening, dipping in the dripping heat and swirling gingerly over her aching clit.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, lifting his head to see. “Are you touching your wicked cunt?”
“Yes,” she whispered, moving her finger in and out of him nice and deep. “Your ass feels good,” she admitted, fighting for air. “I like doing nasty things with you.”
“Because you’re my wicked toy?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure and needed to be. Wanted her to be.
She also felt like he was testing her, and she wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Frank doesn’t like you,” he shot out, like he’d been trying not to tell her, or maybe trying to tell her. “He doesn’t need you, but he wants you, he craves you.” His breaths came in rapid fire as his eyes rolled up with the lift of his hips higher off the bed before lowering back down and pulling his knees back. “Those toys are coming in tomorrow, but he doesn’t want you using them. But I want you to, I want you to make him feel it, make him feel the pleasure,” he whispered, reaching between his legs and helping her fuck him while he quickly jerked his other fist over his cock. “I want you to fuck him real good, real fucking good, do you hear me? He needs it, he’s never had it. If you give him that, he’ll help me, I can tell he will.”
His words swirled in Cheryl’s brain and she knew they were clues that needed her attention, but his need for pleasure made it hard to think. Frank never had pleasure? Was that what needed to happen? Was that the dynamic that might change things? “Open your legs,” she ordered. “Wide, so wide.”
He got on his elbows and opened, watching as she placed her knees on the insides of his thighs like he’d done to her. She grabbed hold of his cock and raked her nails along the length before getting back to pleasuring his butt. His torso heaved with his grunts while his hips bucked under the weight of her. He grabbed his dick in one hand and jerked his fist rapidly over it, forcing her nails to the top of the head. She used all of her fingers to claw at the sensitive ridge, out of her mind with the way his head kept falling back with growls of ecstasy pouring out non-stop. She moved her nails to his balls and raked over the tight skin from base to top. The way he choked on air had her clit pounding with heat. “You like that on your balls?”
“No!” he shot out, flicking his hips more now.
He was doing that thing, saying the opposite of what he wanted. Did that mean Frank wanted those things? Would giving him what he wanted help in the right way? Would he really help Ben? “Would you like me to bite you there while I make your ass feel good?”
His face twisted in some kind of fury followed by his orgasm. It made him buck and thrash and Cheryl gasped from the intensity, holding her hand at the top of his cock, catching his jetting hot cum with her palm while pumping her finger in his ass so it lasted. His massive orgasm had heat boiling her blood.
“Baby,” she crooned, smearing the seed all over the head of his cock, bringing another round of pained groans as he rode the wave back down. She felt surreal above him as his eyes opened, latching desperately onto hers and stirring her protective instincts.
Was that Frank looking at her? Could she really control him? She could if she knew what he needed. But how was she supposed to treat or feel about him? He was part of Ben now. Like a bad seed. And how did Ben really feel about Frank? “Does Frank like when I make you feel good?” she asked, wanting him to know it was him she made feel
good not Frank. She wrapped his cock with her cum soaked hand and slid it softly over him.
“Yes, he loves it,” he whispered, sounding maybe worried about it. But worried how and why?
“What do you think about that?” She looked between his legs, watching her finger still buried in him, loving the tight feel of him. She was surprised at how much he liked it. Was that Ben or Frank? If Frank never had that before, how could it be him? But neither had Ben.
He was back to moving his hips again, his breaths shaky. “I want it,” he whispered, getting up on his elbows again to watch. “I want it,” he reiterated, eyeing her.
She felt his cock thickening again as she stroked him softly. “You want what Frank wants too?”
He eyed her and nodded, like he was sure that wasn’t good.
She wasn’t sure it wasn’t anymore. “I’m not married to Frank,” she said. “I’m married to Ben. And whatever you want, whatever you like…I want to give you that if I can.”
“You don’t…like Frank?”
The sound in his voice and look in his face implied a possible problem if that was the case. “Do you like Frank?” she asked.
“He…wants to do bad things,” he barely said, making Cheryl’s heart hammer. “He can’t…stop it. He can’t stop wanting it. Something makes him,” he barely whispered, like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell.
“What makes him?”
He lowered his gaze, drawn to watch her hand sliding over him while his hips pushed against the weight still pressing into his thighs. “His brain…his brain makes him feel and want it.” He shot his eyes up to her face. “But he doesn’t want what’s in his brain.” He shook his head. “He likes what you make him feel. It’s not the same thing his brain makes him feel.”
“He likes to feel good?”
He nodded a lot. “He’s never felt this. He…” Ben closed his eyes, his brows narrowing as he seemed to fight the words. “He wants things.”
The burning confession came with the slow opening of his eyes, boring into hers with fear and confusion. She carefully removed her finger from him. “Don’t move from there,” she ordered him, hurrying to the bathroom and washing her hands all the while fighting her rising wonder. Why was he suddenly talking about Frank so much? Everything in her said she couldn’t trust what he was saying. He was different, he was…not the same as before. Part of her wanted to leave from there, go far away from whatever influenced him, and another part of her thought it was good somehow. Helpful.
