Holiday (Black and) Blues.
By Smac
Kate is beaten up by her jealous husband.

Corrected 14/06/2001


He walked briskly, almost jauntily, his mind on the coming fortnight's holiday in 
the Lake District. 
Turning the corner his eyes riveted onto the white Ford Escort van outside his 
terraced house. 
The side was stove in.
Dumping his holdall heavily onto the rusty roof he crouched down beside the van.
The driver's door had had it and, by the look of it, the offside wheel would rub 
on the wreckage.
"Well that's pissed on the holiday."
As expected the front door was locked and Kate no where to be seen. 
He plonked himself down in his chair and began to fester.
It had been a very hard week and in time his festering turned to napping. But he 
still heard the front door click.
He jumped up.
"Hey, get in here."
She came in, tail between her legs.
"Where've you been?"
"Mother's," she replied sulkily.
"What the F*!~ happened to the van?"
"I don't know."
"Don't know," he boomed, "what the I*!~ do you mean.?"
"I came down Thursday morning and noticed something was wrong when I picked in 
the milk."
"Humph, you must have heard something?" 
She shook her head.
He stood over her threateningly.
"What were you shacking up with someone or something?" 
She met his gaze.
"Get the gloves out, if you want someone to take it out on, get them out." 
Too mad to stop to think of the consequences he spun round, stripping jacket as 
he marched upstairs.
"You get the gear ready, I'll be waiting."
She nudged open the door and dumped an armful of stuff on the bare floorboards 
of the exercise room.
He turned slowly.
She stood bare legs and feet beneath one of her huge, floppy sweaters. She 
looked abashed, coy and above all vulnerable.
Their eyes met again.
He began to unbuckle his belt.
She unrolled the bundle she'd brought in and, having picked out the pair of 
black leather six ounce boxing gloves with the Velcro at the cuffs, placed them 
near his feet whilst withdrawing to the other side of the room to prepare 
herself.
His gaze wandered in her direction as he, reduced to his underpants, struggled 
with the boxing gloves.
Under the great sweater was a very small pair of white silk panties. They were 
from amongst a load of things head bought her at Christmas and she'd said then 
that they were her favourite. It was a tanga she'd told him. Whatever it was it 
left most of her big bum bare, with thin side strings to a tight patch of thin 
silk which just covered her bare mound. Her massive breasts jutted provocatively 
as she tightened the binding catching her hair at the nape of her neck, the large, 
brown teats impaled by two thick gold rings. Her nipples were healed now after her 
birthday present, there was no trace of scarring, the private clinic where she 
worked had done the business, again.
He swore loudly.
Twice he'd done that now, got himself into his own bloody awkward gloves before 
he'd done her's for her.
"I don't know why she bothers to wear them anyway," he moaned. But he did, she 
liked them so much.
Even as he bound the tapes round her trembling wrists he could see her squirming 
and a grey patch forming on the front of her panties.
"Horny bitch," he grinned to himself.
Still, she'd balls'd up his holiday and he was going to do for her, she'd have 
to turn in at the clinic later, after he'd done what she wanted to her.
She tried to help him get his gloves back on but after a while left him finish 
the job on his own.
He was ready for her at last.
She came over to him and hit him hard in the face, just to provoke him.
He half pushed her away with his left glove and pistoned his right straight into 
the nipple of her left tit. The breast meat ballooned out round the leather and 
she keened, unready for the exquisite pain.
He hit her again, in the left tit.
She gave a ghastly grin and cupped the flaming breast in her left glove, giving 
him an open invitation.
She was crying by the time her face slid down his thigh. He could feel the warm 
tears. He'd hit her left breast so many times and so hard that it was visibly 
swollen and already showing deep, dark bruising. Her useless gloves were wrapped 
round the back of his knee, she looked up at him, tears still streaming down her 
cheeks. He hit her In the eye with a hammer blow and she fell sideways onto the floor.
She brought her knees up and shoved her right glove down between her legs.
"Get up," he snapped, knowing what she was doing.
She crawled towards the wall, bare bum in the air, great breasts dangling.
Slowly she got herself upright, back against the wall.
"That's more like it," sighed Jimmy.
He started to hit her in the face with both left and right crosses.
Kate went down again, her heavy breasts thudding into the bare floorboards as
she hit the deck, hard.
He rolled her onto his back with his bare foot.
There was, by now, blood streaming from her nose. A puddle was left where she'd 
lain. Now it poured over her lips and cheeks.
"Had enough?"
She shook her head slowly.
He bent to hear what she whispered.
"It's all my fault, about the van."
It wasn't of course, but he didn't care now and nor did she.
She stood and he bashed her in the breasts for a while, but he didn't want too 
much damage around her nipples again for a while so as soon as the piercings 
began to bleed he went back to her face.
Both lips were badly cut and he was sure that he'd felt her nose give the last 
tine he punched her. 
She looked a mess. He had her blood all over his front and she, well, she was 
covered. Even her thighs and bare feet were spattered and streaked.
Her nose spurted crimson and she sensed she was facing serious injury. She 
dropped to her knees consciously, not from Jimmy's punches. Her black boxing 
gloves pawed clumsily at his groin. She popped his semi-erect penis between her 
ruined lips.
Once he was stiff he pulled out of her mouth and threatened her with his right 
gloved fist.
She nodded eagerly and he uppercut her cruelly crushing her already busted nose.
She grabbed him again with her right glove and fed him back into her mouth, 
hanging on to the root of his penis with the black leather six ounce boxing glove her 
left glove massaging her mound through her blood and sweat soaked panties.
Blood from her nose poured over his manhood as she resumed her atonement for her 
pseudo sin.