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Teaching Mariana a Lesson
The bathroom door was most of the way open. Steam billow from the shower. I could make out Mariana under the steamy spray. Clearly she was masturbating. I don't know that I had any set ideas, any firm intentions, but as if in a trance I stripped off my clothing and stepped into the shower behind Mariana. I reached around her and palmed her tits, pressed her nipples, while she worked her fingers at her pubis. Only the in the back of my mind were the pictures Sabine had sent her of my Mariana handling Dacq's cock. I pinched her nipples harder. "Going to use up all the hot water without me, were you, little Miss Selfish," I said.
Marianne made a humming noise. Likely she would come soon. Her breasts were heavy in my hands, the nipples jutting. Without really thinking about it, I wrenched the faucet all the way to cold. Instantly Marianne shrieked. I clasped my arms around her arms, trapping her, holding her while the icy spray pelted her face and breasts. She screamed and tried to escape my grip, but I held on tight. The more she struggled, the harder I held on. I don't know how long it lasted, maybe ten seconds, maybe three times that. At last I let her go. She jammed the water off and whirled to face me.
I don't know what I expected, but I wasn't prepared for her expression, a glare of anger, of rage, and of disappointment. "Oh, darling," I started to say. I'd opened my arms to embrace her, to warm her, to comfort her with my body, but her rage kept me back. "Don't touch me!" she yelled. "Don't fucking touch me! Get out! Get out! I don't ever want to see you again. Go! Now!" Her eyes were relentless in their rage.
I stepped from the shower. I grabbed a towel and left the bathroom. I hurriedly dried myself off and dressed and then returned to the bathroom door. I could hear the shower running. Presumably Mariana was warming herself under the water.
"Mariana?" I called out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
There was no answer. I tried the door. It was locked.
"Please, Mariana. Can we...?" The water kept running.
I left. I got in my car and drove. I didn't have any destination in mind. After about an hour I phoned Mariana. She didn't answer. I left a message. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was doing. Please forgive me. It will never happen again. I love you."
I felt genuinely distraught and abject, but at the same time I felt that Mariana's reaction was too severe for my crime. Why was it okay for her to play these games but not okay for me? Or maybe this was just another game. Maybe it was part of my training. I left two more messages. "Please, can't we just talk?" "Mariana, I love you." I was exhausted. I drove home.
Mariana was gone.
story and illustrations by Mat Twassel |
